In Cold Blood
by RenaRoo
Summary: A gang war has broke out between crime lords Auggie O’Neil and Big Toni Baciloni. The tide changes as four mysterious brothers join the fight. An AU of romance, crime, and noir.
1. Missions

I won't even bother to explain this. If you know me as a friend you are shaking your head but have been expecting this to come for quite some time. If you don't know me, well, I guess this still isn't as left field as Hunger or Mutamon! so you have no idea how to take this. In either case, don't worry about it. Seriously. I know what I'm doing but this story won't be updated regularly like my other stories because it is not on a schedule like them. I'm doing this out of the… some sort of hole in my heart that spews plot bunnies. I forget what it's called. In any case, enjoy

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter One: Missions

January 3, 1933

"Can you see it?"

The shroud of fog broke apart like the unveiling of the stage before a performance. In the gray morning light, the torrent winds of the Atlantic beating across his frigid physique, Yoshi Hamato could indeed see the beacon which all the fellow travelers in front had been gasping and gapping about.

There, splitting through two massive clouds of air, stood a copper pillar with arm stretched upward as if to take the very clouds from the heavens.

A smile curved upon the man's face and he clutched to his luggage, a single case which contained his every possession, and the cage of his pet, a small rat. He had never seen such a beautiful sight before in all of his life.

"_Hai!_ I see it!" he exclaimed. Gently, he lifted up his small carrier and grinned at the small rat within. The pet crinkled its nose at him. "Do you see it, little one?" The rat looked, seeming toward the massive landmark. "It is the Liberty Statue."

"Statue of Liberty," a familiar voice corrected him from his side. There was a grunt. "And you have a rat, Yoshi. It's not going to see anything that isn't cheese."

Smiling, Yoshi turned. He could not help but sense that there was still a bit of awe in his dear friend as well. As tough as he may have acted, Yoshi's friend surely had to be bubbling with the same excitement.

"Come now, Saki!" Yoshi laughed. "We are in America – _America!_ The streets are gold and the waters are as sweet as honey. We shall be living rich as the emperor! You must be happy with this."

Saki Oroku's stoic frown broke and he looked to his hopeful friend. "You suppose these things are true?"

Yoshi grinned. "I know them, friend." When his friend seemed undeterred by his faith, Hamato reached over before clasping his shoulder, shaking him firmly like in the meeting of two brothers who had parted for a long time. "We are in America, Saki!"

Smirking, Saki nodded before grabbing Yoshi's shoulder as well. "We are, my friend."

"Things will be better from this time on, you'll see."

The immigration barge tugged itself into the bay of a small island on which many small, brick buildings stood in the midst of a flurry of people of every race, age, and monetary stature. Saki and Yoshi prepared themselves as friends and Japanese brothers to exit the barge, not looking back like the small, caged rat to see that once more Lady Liberty was hidden behind a deceiving Atlantic shroud.

* * *

March 24, 1957

Carlos Mancini took great pleasure in shooting up the smalltime grocery store. The Brida family, German immigrants, had been warned by Fredo "The Weasel" Carzone that in these harsh times it would have been wise for them to pay the Baciloni family for protection. They honestly believed that their small income and loyalty to the O'Neil fraction of Manhattan would keep them safe.

Elizabeth Brida screamed something awful as the clips of the Tommy riddled her floor, their corresponding bullets demolishing the canned foods of the top shelves over her head. Carlos laughed.

At last, Brida fell to the floor herself, ducking under her cashier counter and screaming, screaming to Mancini for mercy his heart surely had to have. Her arms covered her head and she screamed and screamed and screamed until the firing of the Tommy gun, though ringing in her ears, was no longer there.

"That was your warning, you filthy whore," Mancini said as his gun rested over his shoulder and his hand guided a toothpick to the corner of his dastardly smile. "You know what to do to prevent this from happening again, maybe at a time when your husband and your kids are back from their afternoon stroll."

And with that, Mancini turned and left, calmly exiting onto the streets where a long cardboard box, like that for a window pane, rested against a fire hydrant. With no worry, Carlos Mancini slipped the gun into the box and began routinely down the road.

The only abnormality in his routine came as he passed an alley where four predators laid in wait.

They had been watching Mancini for quite some time.

A firm hand suddenly grabbed the ridge of Mancini's silk suit collar. He was completely caught off guard, his feet ripped from beneath him as the alley monster threw him back into the darkness of the alley itself.

"Christ!" Mancini roared as he fell back against the brick of the alley and landed upon the chilled concrete. The darkness shrouded him and he felt panicked. He did not operate well in the dark; none of Baciloni's men did other than his _consigliere_. This was why in the late Fifties, even while the Federal Bureau of Investigation was closing in on the operations of crime bosses, Baciloni operated like it was still 1934.

He looked about only to find that four formless shadows surrounded him, engulfed him.

"Yeah, you need Christ," one laughed in a throaty, malicious voice. His golden brown eyes lit from the darkness like embers, flaring in the whites of his eyes, prepared for what was to come. "But you've been a bad boy, Carlos. I don't think He'll come."

"Who the hell are you?" Mancini questioned before moving fast to grab the barrel of his gun within the box.

"No," another voice spoke up, rather indifferent before smacking the box from his hands, sliding it to a shorter shadow whose blue gray eyes glittered in anxiety as it came to him. "I don't believe that would be smart at all. What do you think, Leo?"

The fourth shadow, standing somewhat behind the other three, simply stared from the shrouding darkness. He did not approach Mancini with vicious jubilance like the other two or back away in total indifference like the speaker. He simply stared.

"Well, that's the order," the deep, giddy voice stated before clasping a thick, three fingered hand on the short one's shoulder. "Here you go, Mikey. Time to be a big boy."

"_What_ the hell are you?" Mancini questioned before looking to them. "Some kinda boogey mans?"

The little one fumbled to pull the barrel the rest of the way out of the package, earning a grunt of irritation from the indifferent shadow. He was not interested in aiding his brother like gruff shadow, instead he coiled back to the one they called Leo.

Those heartless eyes that came from "Leo" stared down at the mobster with complete unreadable aggression. Fear trembled throughout Mancini's body, not because of the immediate threat of the shadows with his gun, but of what thoughts could lay behind those dark eyes.

"Mike, you never done this before?" the dark voiced shadow laughed again. "Come on!"

The Tommy gun at last slipped and a sudden brashness came to Carlos Mancini's body and the urge to scramble, to get away ran through him. He would not allow this to be his last stand, in some filthy alley way with some juvenile, shadow bound _freaks_ being his undertakers.

"Go to Hell!" Mancini roared before reaching into his vest, his bout of dumbness fading from him, and unveiling the revolver secreted.

"No, you," a hissing voice retorted before, quicker than Mancini could blink, the fearsome back shadow was upon him, revealing its green, hard body covered in some sort of armor like he had never seen before.

He aimed to blast but two hands had already grabbed his head over his ears and jerked his head sharply to the left, ending his life quicker than anyone could have come to imagine.

Leo dropped the body, leaving it propped against the brick wall. His rigid structure read like a book, declaring his long, hard life while, at the same time, telling nothing about what was on the inside of the creature.

"Leo!" the growling shadow snapped as he stepped forward. His fiery eyes settled upon his brother. "That was supposed to be _Michelangelo's_ first kill."

The leader dropped and began patting the stiff's body, finding the wallet in an inside pocket of his jacket. "It was necessary, Raphael," he said coldly. "Michael, you can help us prop the body but next time. If you ever want to show us you can do it then you'll have to move faster next time."

The younger brother rubbed his neck, frowning at the announcement. "O-okay, Leo," he muttered, sincerely shook up by the quickness of the death.

"Are we taking his clothes?" the lanky, formal brother questioned as he kneeled beside Leo. "Mike might be able to wear these."

"Yes," Leo responded before looking to him. "Tell me, Don, was this a Baciloni or an O'Neil soldier?"

"Mancini, Italian," Donatello nodded as he reached over and picked up the chestnut brown fedora that had dropped off of Mancini's head. "Here, Mike," he called back to Michelangelo before dusting the hat off. "You've finally got a hat, like a true hitman."

Mike's face grew into a large grin and he reached to take the hat when Leo's hand flew up, blocking the two from reaching each other.

"What now, Leo?" Raphael snapped, taking up Mike's side as usual.

"He has to earn it still," Leo reminded them as he stood up, pocketing the wallet while Donatello routinely removed the silk suit from the stiff. "I killed Mancini. Mike has to do something to earn the goods."

"Perfect size, Mike," Don said as he folded the clothes over his arms. "Absolutely perfect, don't you all think?"

"What do I have to do?" Michelangelo asked as he wrung his hands nervously.

Done with speaking, returning to his dark, brooding silence, Leonardo glanced to Raphael, ordering him to teach their young brother what to do. Raphael obliged with a nod and grabbed Mike's hands, guiding him to point the gun straight for Mancini's head.

"Two shots to the head, make it look like a regular skirmish, kapeesh?" Raph said as he looked to Mike. "Real simple."

Quietly, Don and Leo removed themselves from the range of fire.

Mike stared before aiming the barrel and closing his eyes. "Saint Michael… Saint Michael…" he whispered before firing.

The gun roared, shaking his hands, but Raph held firm, keeping him from falling backward under the might of the gun. He let out a cry of surprise that did not end until the gun finished firing.

As it stopped, women screamed across the streets, unaware what the threat was against: them or their families. Cars sped off, not wishing to see or hear, and those who had begun to gather on the streets to look upon the Brida grocery store took off, scattering like roaches caught in the dark.

No one knew for sure if the violence was over beside the four brothers, standing side by side and looking upon their deed in silence.

Raphael leaned over, his rippling muscles catching the incoming sunlight that peeked through the crevices of the alley. He was big, strong – certainly not anyone that people outside of the family wanted to deal with. His green skin, paled by lack of light, seemed to burn at the naked touch of the sun.

"Good one, Mikey," he laughed. "I said put a bullet in his brain, not his face."

Blushing at the gapping mess of the man's former face, Mike shied back into the darkness, his eyes still glittering with excitement, though.

"It's good enough," Don assured the younger brother before looking to the stone faced shadow. "Don't you think, Leonardo? It'll help explain to whoever finds him why his neck is broken."

Leo simply shifted his eyes downward to look upon the corpse. He nodded at long last before folding his arms over his armored chest. His scowl grew. "One of Baciloni's men…" he muttered again.

"Do you think that Big Toni has noticed us yet?" Mike questioned as he looked to them. "Isn't this the fourth guy we've killed this month? Well, that _you've_ killed."

"Yes," Don nodded before fiddling with his wrist, as if to adjust a sleeve of cuff that was not there. "Big Toni and Saki should have noticed by now that someone has been laying out hits on their men, especially since we got Mancini now. He was a little higher up. Close to one of the underbosses if I recall correctly."

"Won't they come looking for us then?" Michelangelo questioned, his heart racing and his baby blues widening at the thought.

"No," Raphael snorted before standing back up and wiping some of the spray off of his shoulders nonchalantly. "He's gonna shove this on ol' Auggie. _Think_, Michael. No one knows about us."

"Yet."

The younger two brothers turned and stared at their leader. He was seemingly not paying them any mind as he routinely discarded a match used to light his favorite Marlboro and looked off toward the street where people ran once more toward the Brida grocery store, certain it was once again the epicenter of arousal.

"What do you mean _yet_, Leo?" Raphael questioned in a growl, his eyes narrowing as he realized that once more he had been left out of the loop. He looked to Donatello who simply ducked his head, knowing his brother's fuse had been ignited once more by being left out of the loop. "What's up? What the hell did you all decide."

"Nothing without father's consent," Leo said lowly before staring at them. "Now, if you two are quite done with your gapping, let's get back home so we can discuss our next move."

Knowing better than to question Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo begrudgingly followed as their oldest brother tossed his cigarette on Carlos Mancini and headed toward the back of the alley, Donatello not far behind. They made their way to a manhole cover and, like a door to a new world, entered into their true home.

…

"Eh, Leo mighta taken your bit of glory, Mike, but you'll get used to that," Raphael assured his fresh faced, fifteen year old brother before shoving a bottle into his arms. "In any case, you're part of the gang for real now! Take a swig."

Michael looked down to the bottle and then to Raph, his eye ridges raised. "What is this? Your vodka?"

"Hell no!" Raph retorted before grabbing some glasses. "This is sake, lil' man. You're still not grown into your shell and you want vodka – what's the matter with you?"

"So we're stealing Dad's?" he questioned with his face scrunching up at the very thought.

"Oh, come off it, Mike!" Raphael scolded before pulling the bottle back out of his brother's arms and pouring into the chipped glasses. "I made this myself, thank you very much."

"You can make sake?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, but I won't teach you that until much later," Raphael shrugged off the thought as he handed Michelangelo his drink. He smirked. "Y'know, I was about thirteen when I had my first glass."

"That explains why you're an alcoholic eight years later," Mike grinned before tracing the edges of his cup with one of his hand's three fingers.

"Shut up and drink, smart ass," Raph said before raising his glass. "To becoming a man!"

"To becoming a man!" Mike agreed before raising his glass in a chime.

As was usual, Donatello and Leonardo were alone with their father, The Master, while their younger brothers celebrated. They could be told some of the contents of the meeting afterward, but not all. That was left for the older to deal with, and their father.

Flipping the page of his accounting book one last time, Donatello rubbed his face and then nodded. He looked up. "Mancini had about forty-two dollars in his wallet, that puts us evenly at one thousand three hundred and we have four suits – given, Raph's is a bit tight."

"He'll have to deal with it," Leonardo stated before staring at his father. Even here, in the sanctity of home his darkened, cold eyes off set by the massive scar beneath his left eye could not help but reek of the unreadable rage within him. "Toni Baciloni won't take this one as lightly as the last three have been. Hell is going to break lose quicker than the fat lady can sing, father."

"Indeed," The Master stated before looking to his oldest sons. "Then you are all prepared for our next move? To do as I have trained you to for these past fifteen years?"

"Yes," Leonardo stated before Donatello could think to agree along with him.

"Very well," the elderly rat sighed, his once rich brown fur speckled with years of little care and age. He crossed his thin, hairless fingers before his face and stared deeply at Donatello and Leonardo. "I have given you all Italian names, taught you the working of the Mafiosi, and reminded you of the cruelties dealt by this time and age, but also the arts of my homeland – all of this I have done for one purpose. Do you recall such a purpose, my sons?"

"Yes," this time both stated.

"Be prepared to seize the time and day then, my sons, for it comes quick," he warned before coming to stand. "I know the way that Toni Baciloni and his _consigliere_, Saki Oroku, work. They shall strike O'Neil personally in retaliation this very hour. Get your brothers before they have become drunken and hurry to make your move."

The two rose from their seats and nodded to their orders.

"Dress well in the clothes you have obtained and carry with you the cash on hand, keep your wits, your business is your own," The Master read off. His eyes flickered lively. "And do not forget a thing you wish to keep for tonight shall hopefully be the last you spend in these sewer depths with me for quite some time."

…

Like all college freshman, her stride was stiff and punctual, prepared to sprint if the minute hand came any closer to the hour. She could not be late but, at the same time, April O'Neil was not heading toward a class. Her quickstep was not that of an anxious student but of a woman desperately attempting to reach the window pane at the end of the hall so she could take a random turn and lose the bodyguards trailing her.

The window approached closer and closer but the heavy steps of the two men following her only thundered harder and harder in the hall.

Suddenly, she took her left at the window but in doing so she lost the very view of escape she had. The men came even closer, tightening their grip seemingly, suffocating the young red head, making her want to scream.

She turned to them angrily.

"Is this necessary?" she questioned haughtily. "I just want to go to the bathroom!"

"Then go," the hulky one on the left said unmoving. "Your uncle told us to trail you, though, kid. Take it up with him if you have a problem."

"Oh, I have a problem alright," the spirited girl declared before quickly stepping on her heels and entering the bathroom. "I have two big lugs following me to the women's bathroom!"

Fortunately, the brightly lit bathroom was free of her body guards. If it had not been _then_ April would have complained. She sighed and shook her head, attempting to forget her close attachment to the Irish Crime Lord, and began to look in the mirror at her tight bun of vibrant red hair.

She frowned. "April O'Neil," she said with a shake of her head. "You look like a _secretary!_"

Two thuds came from outside the door and April felt a growl emerge from her throat. "You two are barbarians!" she exclaimed as she stomped toward the door, swinging it open upon arrival. "Don't you know to leave a girl in the lavoratory alone—"

The two lugs fell to the ground at her feet, their heads dented in and profusely flowing of a crimson fluid. She screamed and looked up to see the two Sicilians at her door, guns pointed toward her chest.

"April O'Neil," one spoke up, "Big Toni would like to have a meeting with ya."

* * *

A/N: Well, it's at least different, right?

Feedback Appreciated


	2. Echoes of Discontent

Alright, so I'll try not to make my author's notes in this story too bulky because I fear it may distract this story some. I really like this by the way if no one's noticed but I'm weird that way. Again, I don't put much thought into how strange I am so it's best if we all ignore it together. Just so everyone is reminded, this is an Alternate Universe story based upon the Prohibition Era, World War II, Japanese Internment, and Federal Bureau of Investigations' dividing of the organized crime underground. I know. I am a freak.

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Two: Echoes of Discontent

March 25, 1957

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.

The hall seemed to never end and his voyage never quite seemed complete. No, rather, it simply elongated itself the closer he was to the office. The closer he was to the office the longer distance of the office itself and the desk behind which the boss would be at seemed to be.

Sweat broke his brow as he entered the room and silently made his way past the wildlife. Ducking beneath the outreaching rack of the moose head, the runner at last seemed to clear the opposing jungle. He stared before himself to the desk of the adventurous boss and his constant companion and consultant.

"You have something interesting to share, hoss?"

The boss' voice was not terrifying in the booming sense that an overlord was speaking down to his serf. Likewise, the voice was also inescapable and heart wrenching in the sense that it reverberated off the walls like it was in the long chasm of a palace hall. It was authoritative and intelligent. The owner of the voice had seen many days, many adventures, many tragedies and was not intimidated by any possible news that the runner could have, though, it should have been.

"Mr. O'Neil," the runner stuttered as he looked upon the man, dong his best to focus upon the understanding face of the man rather than the intimidating body riddled with strength and fierce muscle mass even at the man's age. "I have… news that is not all that good."

Unimpressed, O'Neil sat back in his chair. "Is that so?"

"The boss has asked you a question," the _consigliere_ spoke up, his dark, coal-like eyes setting upon the runner with absolute disdain. "Spit it out now or I'll find someone who will."

The runner resisted his body's rigidness and compelled himself to respond. Biting his lip, he grimaced at the two before him. He wished he had not been the reporter of this bad news. "Your niece, April O'Neil, did not report to class today."

All understanding dropped from the boss' face and he stared at the runner with a devastated, angry expression grew in its place.

Without warning the boss stood and made his way to a window, not rushing, simply making his way. Gears were visibly turning within his mind and, although no true order was given, the runner knew he was to continue with information.

"We heard today that Brewer and Turner were dead, no doubt it had Baciloni written all over it," the runner continued. "And, and we have a letter about ransom – they're blaming us for their hit men being rubbed out lately—"

"Shut up," the advisor snapped before glancing toward Auggie. He frowned and walked toward him. "We'll get her back. Toni's an animal but he wouldn't hurt April, not just yet—"

"Ivan," Auggie stopped him before turning toward his advisor and friend himself. He wore an expression that only the _consigliere_ seemed capable of understanding. It was mourning. It was devastation. It was vengeful. "Ivan, take a few men to the warehouse on Sitka, they aren't too bright if Saki isn't directly involved. They'll have April in the exact same spot they always have their… guests."

"Sure thing, Sir," Ivan nodded.

"I want her home and save, Ivan," Auggie clarified. "Get my girl home to me and have it done quick. Make sure those… _pigs_ don't so much as touch a hair on her head."

"You have my word, boss."

…

"I have to use the bathroom."

Leaned back against the chair, the college girl craned her neck, doing her best to look directly at her guards. The three of them crowded around the small, circular table with absolutely no interest in April or her needs. They muttered over their cigarettes and laid down their hands, shoving their chips side to side.

Aggravated, she looked down to her hands, both tied individually to different legs of the chair. They had gotten smarter about keeping her restrained. She muttered to herself as she swayed her weight around, attempting to free either hand but neither so much as shook.

Looking back up to her inattentive guards, she growled, "Hey! I have to use the bathroom! Can't you at least let a girl do that?"

"Tinkle on yarself," one called as he turned over his hand.

Her brow furrowing, April decided that these were the very first on her list to tell her uncle about. She did not ordinarily squeal on people but such occasions as these most certainly seemed to warrant some negative attention from her uncle.

"I am attempting to ask you politely for the bathroom," April hissed.

"Polite women don't talk, they cook," another guard snorted.

The third glared at April intently, his brooding eyes never once leaving her body. He caused the girl to squirm rather nervously under his gaze. He shook his head in a final vote over what to do for the hostage.

"The last time," he began to remind her, "they let you in the bathroom and you got out the window. They were morons to underestimate an O'Neil. We're not morons like them."

"That's yet to be determined," April muttered to herself before glancing nervously over to make sure she was not heard. She sighed and attempted to bring up her knees to rest her head on only to be stopped by the restraints on her ankles. She groaned as she recalled that all of her limbs were separately bound to the chair.

"Don't try too hard to get out, Miss O'Neil," the first spoke up again as he went all out. "We'll have to shoot you on spot."

April paused and scowled at her keepers just as the others glanced down upon their friend's cards and began to throw down their pieces in absolute disgust with his good fortune.

_"Merda!"_ the third snapped as he reached into his pocket and found that there was no remaining money.

With a great moan, April leaned her head back and stared at the murky ceiling far above her. She hated being brought into these squirmishes of her family but, fortunately, over the years learned to not be so frightened by them. Instead, she stayed patient, awaiting the inevitable arrival of her uncle's men.

There was a great ruckus outside before the sounds of some mumbling from outside the door. April sighed as she fully recognized that these were some of her uncle's men and the Sicilians did, too. They cocked back their guns and waited expectantly as the door was forced open.

"April!" the familiar voice of her uncle's _consigliere_ and friend, Ivan Dobin, called before there was a snap of fingers.

While the signal had not been intended for Miss O'Neil, she had been around this enough times to take it as a signal for ducking. Thrusting her body forward, April collided with the floor just as the spray of bullets came across the room, meeting up with the bodies of her three captors.

Like a knifed had been thrust in her chest, pain began to grow in April's chest at the strange contorting of her body. It was incredibly uncomfortable to be strapped to the chair while it was turned on its side, pulling her arms back and her legs forward and expanding her chest.

"Ivan!" she cried out as he and the six men with him grew close. The pain, however, could not tear away her instant relief. She had yet to be harmed in any of these altercations with the Baciloni mob but the concept of being placed in captivity had become quite irritating.

"Hold on, angel," he answered gently before kneeling beside her.

Before Dobin could reach her restraints, though, there came a great shout of "READY" and the rest of Uncle Auggie's men did not even have time to react before chests, closets, lockers, and doors all around them in the warehouse squeaked open, each secreting at least two Baciloni mobsters.

"JESUS!" one of the O'Neil soldiers cried just before the fire upon them began.

Screaming, April wiggled desperately to get away even though deep within her mind she knew very well that the men would not dare harm her – she was still considered a civilian to the crime families. Killing her would ultimately begin a Gang War.

Ivan knew this as well and smartly lay down beside her, somewhat hiding from the closest shooters. He watched hesitantly over her shoulder as the men continued to fire, his eyes covering each of the villains at least once to ensure he would remember them later.

April was forced to look forward at her uncle's soldiers, the men she knew, as their bodies violently became riddled with bullet holes, spewing red liquid in vaporous spouts and becoming ever the more horrified with the fact that they, in a sick twist, very much reminded her of provolone.

Then a new sound of firing began.

Even in the midst of Baciloni gunfire it was identifiable, different. It echoed through the warehouse like the chime of a bell in an abysmal cavern. It was direct, intentional. It was absolutely and, in some sense, _magnificently _terrifying.

And the first shot was directly at a Baciloni man.

For a moment there was a stunned silence as everyone took in the event. No one had been aware that there was fire at the Sicilian gang until that very moment and it was stunning. Who could ever be so bold as to shoot at them when they weren't involved with the conflict?

It obviously was not the O'Neil soldiers – they were all finished, dead, no more, finito, guasto. The only one remaining was Ivan and he was hiding on the ground by the tethered April.

Who else could there have been?

"Who the hell?" voiced one Baciloni only for at that very moment the same hollow, echoing shot to take him down. A single shot and he was as dead as a doorknob.

"Where are they?" another asked as the men began looking about, holding their weapons like life support. They glanced about feverishly for an answer only for it to never come. Hearts pounded, sweat dripped, and another echo was heard before a third Baciloni was face down in his own pool of blood.

In the rafters they crept. Noiselessly, they were like the jungle cats advancing upon their prey, their feeble mice with no true way of defending themselves. This game of cat and mouse only had one outcome as far as the brothers were concerned. It would not be going further than that.

Silently, the leader paused, their new formation completed and each in line for his grouped targets. His condemning eyes narrowed as he already determined who would go in what order. His rifle slowly was placed into position and simultaneously his brothers followed.

"That shot came from up there!" a man determined and immediately was gunned down by the leader.

Hearts thumping as they faced what could only be described as ghosts, the other Baciloni men glanced toward the ceiling rafters, searching for movement, faces, guns, anything to be their targets only for three simultaneous shots from three separate directions to go off.

There were now only five Baciloni men.

April held her breath, unsure of what to make of this. "Ivan, what are you guys doing?" she asked, her chest fluttering with anxiety. She wanted to get out of the warehouse, she had a terrible feeling. "Is this one of Uncle Auggie's new strategies?"

"I wish so, angel," he whispered as he looked up, stern but just as frightful as she. "But it's not any plan he ran by me."

She did not respond but she knew for sure that this was no plan devised by her uncle then. He ran everything by Ivan, he, after all, was _consigliere_. How could Augustus O'Neil ever get by without him to help?

"What the hell's going on?" the youngest of the Baciloni men cried before he was taken out as well.

"Who gives a damn!?" another called. "Just shoot!"

Without a second thought, the remaining for fired into the rafters relentlessly, their shots clattering against the tin as it exited through. The fire of bullets showered the rafters and ceiling but seemed unsuccessful.

It _was _unsuccessful.

The leader leaned against the closest pillar and looked about to his brothers as they too found the largest shelter they could find, hiding themselves throughout the warehouse skeleton and staring back at him silently, awaiting orders.

His collective expression never faltered. He simply looked down as the men stopped, all out of clips and all awaiting some drizzle of blood or bodies to tell them they finished off whoever was attacking them.

The only drizzle that came from the firing was the gentle entry of light through the dozens upon dozens of bullet holes that littered their ceiling. The jets of light sprinkled through and seemed to tell all those on the ground that there was nothing above.

There was a collective drawing of breath as the Baciloni men tried to make heads or tails of the event.

Here lied the cue.

Sliding into the light, the bulk of the leader became apparent and the shine of the barrel of his rifle seemed to be a faint foreshadowing before the fatal shot hit the first of the Baciloni men. The others had no time to react as the three following silhouettes appeared and took their shots of their targets.

Like a battlefield, the Baciloni blood smeared with the O'Neil and the bodies became inseparable.

Her breathing seemed enhightened. She could not resist the strong breaths forcing themselves in her chest. There were only two living people left and she feared that the killing was not over yet. These were not the tactics she knew her uncle would or could carry out.

Instead from the rafters dropped four bodies. All four seemed nicely dressed though the assumption was hard to make out to be true considering how far they remained from the better lighting. The four carried a stance and atmosphere that was both unique for each yet coordinated, bouncing off of one another. They were most certainly unified.

April marveled at them. There was one very lean but still rounded somewhat disproportioned in his torso. Another was the tallest and by far the largest build but shared that distinct roundness in the torso that could be seen in the smallest and jitteriest. The smallest lacked the complacent and businesslike façade carried by the others, particularly the one in the front.

The one in the front seemed the most intimidating of them all.

"You, hiding behind the woman like a cockroach," the largest growled with a hint of sickening humor in his tone. He motioned for Ivan to come forth. "You got something interesting to share with us or not?"

Clutching to April's shoulders, Ivan slowly got up, his eyes set on the four figures before them. He whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, angel. I'll get you to your uncle no problem."

She watched as he silently made his way over to the four only for the one in the front to hold up his hand, its fingers closed but somehow strangely shapen, like not all of his fingers were there. April wondered if he was missing a pinky or something.

Dobin stopped, his eyes nervously settling on the shimmering weapons in the shadows' hands.

"Who are you?" Ivan questioned.

"I'll be asking questions," the front shadow hissed in a warning but strangely even toned fashion. He seemed as though he was in complete control of the situation and April had to admit that she felt he was. "Who are _you?"_

"I'm Ivan Dobin," he responded.

The front shadow turned its head, his face concealed beneath a brimmed fedora. He seemed to look at the lean shadow who knowingly reached up to his hat and pulled out a small pad of paper. He flipped a few times until he reached a page.

"O'Neil _consigliere_, Leo," the lean one responded.

"Ah," the one called Leo said as though he had little interest before turning sharply on his heels to face Ivan and fired once, twice, thrice into his chest. He then leaned the barrel of his gun on his shoulder and watched as Ivan fell. "_Buona notte,_ Signore Dobin."

The force expelled itself from April's throat before she realized its existence. She screamed and screamed as the body of the man she had known since childhood fell to the floor and groaned an exasperated cry before flattening out. The pool formed in gushes beneath him before the river of red drifted out and away, nearing Miss O'Neil to her great horror.

"No! NO! _NO!"_ she cried out as not only was she assured of Ivan's demise but was neared by the monsters that had done this to her beloved friend and uncle's _consigliere_. "Don't you touch me! HELP! Please! HELP!"

"This is Auggie O'Neil's niece?" the bulky shadow questioned as it leaned down, revealing a glistening green skin to April's absolute horror.

"Please! Whatever you are! Don't hurt me!" she screamed as she pulled again at her restraints, gasping as she merely tightened the stretching of her limbs, forcing out the little air she had. She gasped. "No!"

"She's having a real conniption, Donny!" the smaller one called as he leaned over, tipping up his brim to reveal his noseless green face and broad, wide mouth like something seen on a reptile. He grinned a large, toothy smile. _"Ciao!_"

Eyes widened, April released a horrific cry before shaking her head, her eyes slowly rolling back and her entire body limping into undeniable unconsciousness.

Releasing a small noise, Michelangelo straightened up, adjusting his new and slightly large suit. He laughed slightly at her reaction; he had come to expect it from anything close to an interaction with humankind.

Raphael grunted as he stood up, shaking his head. "More like _arrivederci_, Mike," he corrected his younger brother. His eyes slowly drifted toward Donatello and Leonardo, narrowing slightly as he saw that, as he usually did when he was thinking deeply, Leo had pulled out his cigarettes. "I suppose there was a reason you killed big-shot over there then," he growled as he thumbed the direction of Ivan Dobin.

Leo simply muttered as he lit his fag.

Don sighed as he came around and untied the hapless woman. As usual, he spoke for the mysterious leader. "You know there's always a reason for what Leo does, Raph. Yes, it is all according to the new plan authorized by—"

"We can't mention him in public," the leader hissed in warning.

"You know," Don corrected himself, sliding an aggravated glance past Leonardo's radar. "I untied her, Raph, Mike—Mikey, what are you doing?"

Crouched down on his knees, Michelangelo's bare green dome reflected bead s of sweat as it bowed down. His fingers feverishly rubbed over the pendent around his neck of the silver crested angel, his thumb gracing over each individual feather as he uttered his prayer over the body of Ivan Dobin.

_"Glorious Prince of the heavenly hosts and victor over rebellious spirits,  
be mindful of me who am so weak and sinful and yet so prone to pride and ambition.  
Lend me, I pray, thy powerful aid in every temptation and difficulty,  
and above all do not forsake me in my last struggle with the powers of evil.  
Amen."_

"Speaking of conniptions," Leo sighed as he looked about, nipping at his cigarette's butt.

"Shut up, Leo," Raphael growled. "Mike can pray if he wants."

"It's okay, Raph," Michael explained as he slowly came off his knees, smiling some at his brothers' ignorance. "Prayers end after 'amen' if you hadn't noticed."

"Hey, shut it, I was taking up for you," Raph grinned at him. "You owe me, Catholic-boy."

"As absolutely amusing as this all is," Donatello spoke up as he stood with the paled Miss O'Neil sprawled across his arms, "I believe the plan calls for us to begin leaving, don't you think, Leo?"

"Yes," he agreed before stepping toward the exit, flicking what remained of his cigarette to the side. "Kick your shells into gear."

With a great sigh, Donatello followed his brother, adjusting April in his arms the best he could as he made his way out. "You heard him, you two," he reiterated as he passed the younger two brothers. "Get moving."

"Who does he think we are, Raphie?" Mike questioned with a shrug. "The hare?"

"Get going, smart ass," Raph growled before heading after them. "It's time for us to act like heroes."

Sighing, Mike followed, fighting back the urge to argue that maybe, just once, they should actually attempt to be the actual heroes. He knew, at least with his brothers, that would have been a useless request.

* * *

January 23, 1933

It was most unfortunate that only twenty days after his initial arrival to Ellis Island was Yoshi Hamato and what he found of his luggage and the jubilant pet which had barely passed inspection were allowed to arrive upon the harbor of New York.

Here he would wait to meet up with his friend Saki who had not met the same fate of quarantine.

"I hope that Saki has found us a nice place to stay, my friend," Yoshi said with a sigh as he looked down to the cage. He gently raked his fingers across the bars so that the rat could eagerly place his nose against its master's skin.

"Twenty-three."

Quietly, Yoshi turned and found the crowds separate around him, moving forward to the awaiting city. The only other person who seemed immobile was an elderly woman who shared his almond shaped eyes and tinted skin. She was wrinkled, however, and seemed to have her skin in folds where perhaps she once had more weight. Now she seemed misshapen with skin too large for her bones.

"Excuse me?" Yoshi questioned.

Her lips peeled back over jagged fangs and faded ivory, all crooked or sideways and certainly not properly fitted to her mouth. Her smile made the young man cringe slightly. "You have come on the twenty-third day. You think this is coincidence, Oseph?"

At this address, the immigrant turned more directly toward the old woman and cocked his head to the side. "I do not understand, do you speak to me? My name is Hamato Yoshi. Who is this Oseph? Are you confused?"

"You shall be all the Pharaoh asks for, Oseph," she said behind twinkling eyes, glazed in an unnatural state. "Be careful for your brothers are not with you."

With one sniff, Yoshi immediately snarled and turned from the woman, looking more desperately for Saki. "Leave me alone, _obasan!_" he growled. "You smell of sake, old drunk."

"And you smell of fear, Oseph. You should."

The aggravated Yoshi released a final growl before turning about to more clearly tell off his newest nuisance only, to his horror, find she was not about. He blinked and looked around, sure that such a woman in her shape could not move so quickly, but she was not around.

He scratched his head and questioned whether or not the woman was ever actually there before grunting and looking down to the small rat. "I do not know who was more drunk, my friend, that woman or me" he said aghast. "I was not even aware that I had been drinking.

* * *

A/N: I'm not going to go through each individual translation in this chapter, sorry. If there is any of these that you really want to know, tell me and I'll get right with you ;P I will clarify some symbolism and religious elements right now, though.

The prayer Mike used was Saint Michael Powerful Aid. As you may have caught on by now, the number symbolism is rather important. Just for clarifying, 23 in the last scene is referring to Genesis 39 and 40 if you didn't catch on.

And yes, this is a butt to write but I like it.

Feedback is greatly appreciated~


	3. A Spider's Web

Okay, it's been a while since I updated this story so I apologize but, in my defense, I think it helps me dwell on what parts to put into it. There are actually 10 storylines I have written out and each chapter consists of me picking and choosing which parts of which story to put in. No fears, though, it all has a point and it all has a destination and, better yet, it all coincides before the end.

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Three: A Spider's Web

January 23, 1933

Seeing his friend ahead, Saki slowed the truck, the old engine spluttering and spewing fumes in reply before sluggishly obeying. The vehicle at last came to a stop and Saki leaned over, opening the passenger door and smirking to his old friend.

Yoshi looked completely shocked as he reluctantly neared the machine. Saki only grinned further at his reaction.

Leaning forward, Yoshi looked around the inside of the truck before blinking at Saki himself. "You have a car?" he asked, suspended in his own disbelief. "You know how to drive?"

"You look surprised, my friend," young Saki laughed before motioning for the fellow traveler to enter the vehicle. He waited somewhat impatiently as Yoshi drug in his luggage and the cage of his nonsensical pet before pressing his foot down against the pedal, taking off with yet another splutter. "I borrowed the truck from our boss."

"Our _boss?_" Yoshi asked in surprise.

"From our job at the docks," Saki somewhat answered as he pulled his concentration from the conversation and more upon the road as he turned and begun his way on the cluttered road of people racing back and forth, attempting to make way for the slow moving truck.

Slowly, Yoshi sat back in his seat. His mind was reeling yet again, his face expressing utter confusion before leaning forward again. "I have been gone for many days, Saki. Are you telling me that we have a job in this country already?"

"We're in America, Yoshi," the other reminded him as they peddled along the road, the truck rumbling and roaring the entire way, hardly obeying Saki Oroku's incessant stomping on the gas. "I also got us a home."

The fellow immigrant was flabbergasted. He leaned back into his seat, clutching to his precious rat's cage, as he desperately attempted to understand everything that had just happened. His eyes slowly turned upon his friend again. "Are the streets made of gold as well?"

"Hell no," Saki retorted before gesturing toward the front window, his own eyes following the trials of pooling water and crumbling brick before them. "Can't you see for yourself?" He rolled his eyes as they bumbled along, the car hitting each obtrusion on the road like a death defying jump. "We've not gotten to the right parts of America yet to see the golden roads. That's expensive—they can't use it everywhere."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Yoshi rubbed his head. He felt so strange in this faded sunlight. It was not a bright light yet it irritated his face after spending such a long time in the closed quarters of Ellis Island. "What is our home like?"

"Small, but we're not going there," Saki stated as he shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of the irritable chattering. "I cannot believe you still have that rat!"

"Why aren't we going home?" Yoshi questioned worriedly, his face slightly dropping. "I would like to see our home. I've seen nothing but that quarantine room for so long."

"Yes, this is true, but we're very lucky you got out after twenty days," Saki stated as he turned on the road, growling at the crowds of people delaying in their scattering from his truck. "We're going to meet our boss at the docks."

Yoshi stared at Saki sourly. "I am in no condition to be seeing anyone, Saki-san."

"You are if you want to keep this job," Saki Oroku corrected his friend before coming to a halt. "This was the last day that he was going to wait to meet you. It is very honorable of him to hold on a position for you just on my word alone. Do you really want to insult him with such attitude?"

"No!" Yoshi defended before rubbing his face. "Saki, I don't know what we're even doing for a job! Is it anything I know about?"

"Should be," the friend responded as he slid out of the vehicle and sent Yoshi a wry look. "You remember how to fish, don't you?"

Reluctantly, Yoshi put down the little rat's cage and began to make his way out of the truck. "I will be back, little friend… I hope," he muttered before shutting the door and rushing to catch up on the dock with Saki. He looked to his friend and twirled around, unsure of who or what he was looking for before glancing at Saki. "Where _is_ this honorable boss?"

"Not here just yet, Yoshi, busy man," Saki explained fondly. "Good worker, hard worker. He will be here soon but you should see the _Mar_ before you talk to him."

"The who?" Yoshi questioned ignorantly. "Saki, speak slower! I have not been here for all the days that you have. I don't know what's going on."

"The _Mar_ is the boat," Saki stated as they came to a boat. "And it is a very wonderful ship. It has done us very well in the past days. We haven't caught anything but the others on the boat assure me that they know what they are doing, getting the fish used to us for the week to come."

As they stopped, Yoshi looked about questioningly. He blinked as the only boat that seemed even close to a fishing vessel was the rusted, barnacle covered ship ahead of him. He did not seem very impressed. In fact he appeared rather disenchanted with the entire situation.

"Is this the boat?" Yoshi questioned with a wave of his hands. "She does not even look as though she could float."

"She is fine," Saki refuted with a scowl forming over his brow as he realized just how negative his friend was being with the entire situation. "What is the matter with you? Did I pick up the wrong person? You have acted strangely ever since I met you on the pier, friend."

Yoshi frowned and looked to Saki. "I met an old woman on the pier before you came, Saki-san," he muttered lowly. "Strange old woman with eyes like milk and skin that hung off of her like a loose tarp."

Saki stared at him. "Is this so?"

"Yes, she seemed to be from _Nihon_ but her voice was strange, like that woman that was in the barracks beside us on the boat," Yoshi expressed slowly. "She kept calling me 'Oseph' and was warning me about some sort of danger. About some Pharaoh? What is that even?"

Not paying too much attention, Saki nodded and looked over the _Mar_ yet again. "I heard something similar from this sort of religious place not far from our home. Christianity—like the missionaries that came to Kento that one time."

"I did not talk to those people."

"I didn't either, but I overheard some things," Saki admitted as he shrugged. "I do not know much about Western Religion so I do not know what she meant, if anything. Do not worry about that stuff, worry about your job."

Yoshi frowned before tilting his head. "Why? What do you mean?"

Saki's eyes directed themselves over Yoshi's shoulder and immediately turned to see a round Caucasian man in a tan suit making his way across the dock. His straw hat was setting on his head lightly like a bird in danger on a power line, threatening flight at any moment.

"Ah, so this is the Hamato lad that you have been filling me in on for the past weeks!" the man expressed as he neared Yoshi with an extended hand. "I am Roger Diner. I own this marina and the fishing boat you'll be working at with my other boys."

Yoshi stared at his hand for a moment before bowing quickly. "It is an honor to meet you, Diner-sama."

Awkwardly, the man laughed before looking over his shoulder. "I hope you gentleman don't mind but I brought my wife's ward with me. I don't usually talk business with women around but, you know how it is, wife's sick and I am stuck babysitting."

"Not a mind at all, Sir," Saki said stiffly before his eyes glanced over Mr. Diner's bulk to the small form beside him. He froze as he realized that it was a young girl with small, walnut shaped eyes and a gentle, pouting face.

Yoshi was dumbstruck. "Your ward?"

"Ah, yes. This is Teng Shen. My wife was friends with her mother," Diner explained with a simple shrug. "She seemed interested in coming today, didn't you, Doll?"

Her dark eyes turned upon Yoshi and paused. She nodded quietly before gripping to the ends of her puffy, mushroom shaped dress. Respectfully, she gave Yoshi a small bow, her eyes never taking themselves from his face.

He smiled and returned the gentle gesture.

"Alright, enough of that nonsense," Diner stated a bit more shortly. He motioned for the lot to follow him toward the deck of the _Mar_. "We need to speak business."

Saki smiled, struck by the young girl before following Mr. Diner. "Yes, let us talk business," he expressed in a much chipper mood than earlier. He did not take notice of how neither Yoshi nor Teng Shen had moved from their spots.

Slowly drawing her gaze from him, Teng Shen glanced to her guardian on the boat and then back to Yoshi. Her face hardened before she took off after Saki and Mr. Diner.

Admiring the young girl, Yoshi watched her before slowly making his way up onto the deck. He suddenly felt newer, rejuvenated. Perhaps the dreams he held for this country were not so far off after all.

* * *

March 26, 1957

The smell of herbs entered his nose as subtly as the honking of the traffic outside hit his eardrums. His eyes opened immediately and he glanced across the way to the desk in his den. He knew immediately that he had fallen asleep on the leather chair and the aches of his neck and back soon became apparent.

They seemed like such distant thoughts in Saki's mind as he stared at the sharply dressed girl eloquently laying out his morning tea.

"You were having a dream, father," Karai said gently as she finished mixing the herbal remedy. "It has always concerned me when you have dreams that seem to trouble you so deeply. Is there anything you wish to say about them?"

He studied her strong features before slowly moving his hand as if to brush her aside from his vision. "I wish to say nothing, daughter. Only that I want to know the time."

"Exactly six thirty, father," she expressed before finishing the tea ceremony and bowing lowly. "Your tea time."

"Indeed," Saki responded before he stood. He brushed off the wrinkles on his black dress paints and straightened the collar of his shirt. He would merely have to wear them again today. He glanced onto the desk. "Was there any news that I need to be caught up on, daughter?"

"Some men were waiting downstairs earlier," she explained quietly as she remained on the floor on her knees. She remained proper and poised as the tea hostess was mandated to be in Japanese tradition. "I had them wait in the lobby of the building citing that you were in need of rest and wished to not be disturbed."

Saki sat at his seat and stirred his tea again, watching the swirling leafs within. "You did not speak to them face to face I hope, Karai. These are dangerous times and I would be in quite the position if my only daughter was risking her life by answering our every call."

"No, father," Karai stated assuredly. "I answered from this floor and demanded that they remained on the first. I did recognize the voice of the one talking, though."

"Oh?" Saki questioned before he sipped.

"Yes, he is the underboss for Baciloni-sama," Karai explained, her eyes cast upon her father for a reaction. She was not surprised to see nothing outwardly. Instead, she focused upon his internal response, his chi. "The one they call the Weasel."

He stared at her before lowering his cup. "Bring them up to my quarters."

Bowing until her forehead met the floor, Karai obliged. She stood and quietly stepped out, being out of Saki's sights for only a few moments before the sounds of heavy shoes carrying their load up the stairs echoed to Saki's ears.

He sipped from his tea again.

Karai opened the door and politely stepped aside, allowing the scrawny, bright suited Fredo "The Weasel" Carzone entered with his heavy built bodyguard, Alexander Macci, in tow. As usual, the Weasel was overly confident in his position despite there obviously being manners wrong.

Alexander just looked like his brains had slid out of his ears, as usual.

"Gentleman," Saki spoke up as he set aside his tea and shifted a stern eye to Karai. She immediately bowed and quietly closed the doors to the office, disappearing from the sign of business discussion. "Do sit."

"Thank ya, Jappy," The Weasel yipped before falling back into Saki's favorite leather chair.

After a moment, the Weasel looked to his bulky friend and scowled. "Don't stand there like a lump on a log! Sit down! Take a load off! Who ya think's gonna off me while we're here at Saki's pad? His daughter?"

Saki folded his hands into one another and quirked a brow at the suggestion. "Do not underestimate my daughter, Carzone-san. You will be very surprised."

Alexander slowly made his way into the seat and awkwardly, or dumbly rather, stared forward, straight through Saki like he was a window. Weasel was glowering at Saki, his sharp features twitching at the authoritative position that the foreign man held over him.

"What business is there that you felt you must bring it to my home before my family?" Saki questioned. "I trust that it is highly important?"

"Hey, now, you only have a daughter, I don't think that title completely counts as 'family' there, Jappy," The Weasel snapped before crossing his arms. "So don't be tryin' to make me out here as some sort of inconvenience or anything."

"Karai is indeed my family, Carzone-san," Saki said sharply. "And you are never an _inconvenience_," he added rather smartly. "But you are avoiding my question. What is the business? And I best hope it is not that your men have lost Augustus O'Neil's niece yet again."

There was an awkward silence and Weasel shifted tensely.

…

With what could only be described as a primitive roar, the boss' fist came down onto the table, crushing the glass of the picture frames that had been lying there. The crushed pieces flung themselves outside of the frames and caused the sitting men to hide their faces both from the glass and from one angry "Big Toni" Baciloni.

"What the hell kind of hired hands are you?" he roared, his slicked back hair falling from its tightly bound state. "You can't even keep a little bitch in the _palm of your hands!?"_

In the midst of the screaming, Saki quietly made his way in. He nonchalantly slid through the shadows from the entrance door over to the desk of the _Don._ Taking his place as _consigliere, _Saki stood stiffly behind Toni's right hand.

"We're sorry _Don_ Baciloni!" the first of the thugs cried out. He rubbed his face in disgrace as he attempted to curl up into himself. "We just left after there were so many others already there, we thought we could leave."

Saki stared, highly unimpressed, and then glanced to Big Toni. He already had a feeling for where this was going.

"Yeah," the other thug of equal, unmemorable bulk spoke up. "We were just as surprised as you when we came back to the warehouse and found everyone—O'Neil's and ours—rubbed out!"

Growling, Toni Baciloni flung himself back into his seat and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. "'Surprised' he says!" he muttered. "Yeah, I was surprised," he lowered his hands before growing a hideous, angered look. "Surprised that I have such incompetent assholes on my payroll!"

"You don't anymore, Sir," Saki stated collectively, his gaze then set upon the faces of the other men.

Turning in his seat, Toni more directly faced the _consigliere_ and Saki knew immediately to bend over so his boss could whisper in his ear. The angered Sicilian did not waste long before ranting in Saki's ear. 

"I don't want to see these pigs again at all, Saki," he fiercely snapped.

"I assumed as much, Sir," Saki replied.

"And I'll need a time to meet with Augustus to try to cool this whole thing over," Toni continued. "Try to keep a war from being declared."

"I already scheduled for you and he to golf this week," the Japanese businessman retorted.

_Don _Baciloni nodded observantly, recalling why he had hired the man to be his _consigliere_. He was already ten steps ahead, as usual, and no doubt simply waiting for permission for the next suggestion that Toni was about to make.

"And these airheads?" Toni questioned with a smirk. "I think they deserved to be _shredded_ for their incompetence, Mr. Oroku. Wouldn't you like to agree?"

Slowly, the man nodded lowly and he straightened himself. He looked to the two men who immediately tensed. They knew they were about to see a side of Saki that not many had seen and survived. Saki Oroku, of course, obliged to their acknowledgement.

Before others could even blink, Saki grabbed the fire poker on the side of the fireplace and was upon the two men, the black metal rippling the flesh of their skulls. The men hit the floor in shocked unconsciousness.

"The Shredder" stared over them as he dropped the fire poker. "Big Toni" laughed at the event as he leaned back into his chair. He did not need a hand in the torture to enjoy the soon demise of the faulty strong hands. Saki Oroku, however, did.

He was not done with them yet.

…

The screams echoed from below the rounded street opening. Saki peered through the hole and into the blinding darkness. While he could only see the bloodied hands, reaching toward the light shining through the manhole, Saki could still imagine the horrible grinding and contorting of their bodies.

They most certainly were being shredded then.

"Close it," Saki ordered the henchmen around him as he remained locked in position.

He remained as the others quickly approached the manhole and covered the lid, ending the echoes. They backed away and looked to Mr. Oroku for more orders though he would not have moved for some time. His gaze was still locked upon the manhole and the terrors that were happening beneath.

Saki was not alone, however.

Above the street, staring quietly from her room's window, Karai faced the horrors below. She might have not been allowed in family business but, as she had since she was a child, she was watching, fully aware of the evil that was happening.

Unlike she had as a child, though, Karai did not turn from the evil. She faced it knowingly, in acceptance.

…

Stoic, reflective, Augustus O'Neil stared at the window. His hand instinctively ran through his gray speckled red hair and he could almost feel the Sahara heat upon his neck again. The sense of adventure to an almost fantastical level attempted to rush through his blood one more time but failed upon reaching his heart.

His heart was heavy and cold like the pit of his stomach as he looked out his window. While he sweated like on his desert adventures, his mind was much more mournful.

The tired crime lord imagined himself, like so many times before, dressed in a deathly black, walking down the Cathedral aisle. Every pue would be crammed of men and women, some his friends, some observers, but most simply enemies attempted to show a greater grace. He neared the front, the casket, where the priest stood.

The casket opened and revealed yet another loved one.

"April," he whispered to himself, nearly sick over the very thought. He did not so much as turn when the door opened behind him.

"Mr. O'Neil, Sir," a lowly voice questioned near the other side of the room. Whoever this man was, he obviously had not learned much about etiquette in the O'Neil Clan. It was never wise to pester a man when he was mourning severe loss.

"I am not in the mood for entertaining, my apologies," Augustus muttered as he brought the edge of his bottle to his lips yet again. He pursed them, hoping to drink like a fish and drown like a cat. He cursed his Irish blood for keeping him afloat to this point.

"But, Sir," the messenger dared to continue.

"I said I don't want to entertain!" he snapped, shrugging his head to the side though not daring to glance at the man.

"But, _Sir!"_ he retorted again. "There are a few men in the lobby that wish to speak with you. They want to meet with you in private."

Augustus did not even bother to argue, opting to turn more assuredly toward the window and gargle his alcohol over the man's voice. He was sick with sorrow and could not allow even these mysterious men to bring him out.

"Sir, they have your niece."

The crime lord paused, his face draining of color at the very thought. Truly, to see or hear April at this point would be liken to a visit from a phantom. He simply did not believe it would happen. He had waited for so many loved ones to return to him before being devastated with the truth, that he was undeniably left behind by them.

This was a joke too cruel to be false. He turned and stared at the face of the young man.

"What did you say to me, boy?" he questioned lowly.

"It's true, and they wish to speak with you."

Before the boy was finished with the report, Auggie was grabbing his favorite hat and making his way out the door to meet these men who had supposedly had his loved niece. He was irritated, angered and, strangely, hopeful.

If this was a false claim, however, Auggie O'Neil was prepared to kick some ass.

* * *

A/N: As usual, I don't think there are too many translations needed for this chapter or even references cleared up but if you have questions do not be shy and ask. I will answer you as quickly as possible!

Please Review


	4. Offers of a New Life

I have a waning confidence in my abilities to pull this story off completely. At the same time, though, I to see this written out more than I want to see any of my other "in progress" stories. It's very confusing. Hopefully you all understand.

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Four: Offers of a New Life

June 8, 1942

The plunge overwhelmed every sense he contained.

Beneath, above, to the side, all directions merged into one unconceivable prison and he determined that he lacked the ability to upturn himself. That moment was frozen, was painful, and was beyond description for the creature.

His breath drew up within him, strangling him from the inside.

Ever so faintly he could recall images from moments before, perhaps hours before, he no longer could tell. He remembered biting the hand that inevitably tossed him. He recalled the fat, loud man standing by the familiar and traitorous tosser. He remembered the glow of the liquid about him.

Then he remembered that it was a lake of unnatural chemicals that he was stuck within. He recalled how he could once move his legs and arms and break out of the womb of his tomb.

The rat, which had once been a friend and companion, burst through the surface, born anew.

It was then that he faintly recalled his old master's stories and how sometimes the death of one life is merely the beginning of a new. He then remembered how a new life can be a chance to right how one was wronged in the previous life.

He looked about, his lid tired and seeking closure. The energy it took to break into his new life had exhausted the former rat, broken in his new form already.

Glancing about, the rat saw that he was within a pool of the foul smelling, fouler looking ooze and heard others splashing around it as well. Strangely, though, what had once felt like an inescapable ocean of the liquids suddenly did not even come up to his knees.

His vision was caught up by a sign not hanging far away. It loomed over the embankment with strange letters, only a few of which he remembered.

_M A N _ A T T _ N _ R O J _ _ T_

Within his mind, he held on to the information, banking upon its importance at a later date yet he already could foresee that it was not the most important aspect of that day.

The splashing weakened and the former rat, partial man glanced about before his blurred vision adjusted and brought his attention toward the swimming three. They were somewhat further into the water, only their shells protruding from the water.

He knew these creatures, had lived with these creatures.

These _kame_ had been his fellow pets to their master and, in his memory, the rat gathered the three up. He grasped onto the smallest one first, surprised at how much it had seemingly grown. He had always been the tiniest but now he seemed as large as the rocks on the shore.

His appearance was also altered, stranger.

The second was even larger than he, and his beak had seemingly grown wider, stretching across his face and creating a most unusual face, not truly turtle or man. The rat-man placed him upon the shore as well, watching as the first crawled on his hard plated stomach.

The third was enormous, inhibiting the rat's ability to pick him up.

The shell of the third turtle was nearly as wide as the rat's body and was resistant to his coaxing toward the shore. Something about the birthing from the water appealed to the largest turtle to the point that he was unwilling to come closer to capture and removal from it.

At last, however, the rat stood in front and shoved with all his might, turning the turtle over and scooting it toward the dry shore, onto the dying reeds with the other turtles. It struggled with its shockingly human like legs, its stub toes curling against his foot.

He looked over the turtles and quietly took in the image. The rat was no longer so sure that these had been the turtles he shared a home with.

Slowly, however, he recalled that there had not been a simple three turtles in his master's home but had been a _fourth_ kame he had known. There was no more splashing, though, and this caused the rat's heart to race.

These four turtles were all he had left.

Glancing about, eyes darting from one side of the pool to the other, the rat man at first did not see a fourth turtle anywhere. Then, glancing toward the pipe from which the glowing ooze seeped from, he saw the turtle.

On his shell, the turtle had no doubt remained just as he had landed when he was tossed. He was the most changed of the group, already appearing more child than reptile. His face was amidst a sickening vapor, not completely shadowing the fleshy disheveling.

The rat quickly rushed to his side and lifted him from the perilous situation only to come to a horrifying discovery.

Dragging the indescribable creature onto the bank with the others, the reborn rat man laid the turtle out in the middle of the others. The largest turtle had already turned himself over somehow and was only neglecting his escape back into the waters due to the curiosity he had about this fourth turtle, his brother.

They all gathered and watched in wonder as the childlike creature's body began to contort itself unwillingly. Stiffly, the turtle began to convulse without explanation. Their body shook about fiercely.

Unknowingly, the other mutations watched their fellow mutant and brother experience the first of his seizures.

* * *

March 26, 1957

Forward he stared, his face fixated on doorframe that seemed to only grow further and further away. The darkness that had always been so kind to him, in hiding his disformities and shielding him from the glaring surface world, was now swirling about him, causing everything to disappear.

He felt the cold sweat form on his brow and his stomach lurched forward with an uncomfortable pang. He wished he had not gotten so excited when he yelled earlier.

Excitement always triggered these.

"You didn't have to yell at him like that, Leo," Michelangelo complained as he looked through the crack of the door. "I mean, we could've sent him off before seeing us without scaring the pants off of him. I think he might of wet himself." At that he released a deep laugh. A gangster whizzing himself at the simple outburst of "ghosts", parish the thought.

"It's damn dark in here," Raphael growled as he tugged at his sleeves. They were much too tight for his build but, true to form, he ignored the mild discomfort. "Seriously, let's get a light on. I kinda wanna check out the doll on the couch again. I ain't never seen a woman so close."

He made a move for the light switch, and Leo shook his head. It was in disharmony with the convulsions of his hands. "D-Don't turn them on!" he hissed as his vision milked over. "D-don't…"

Raph obeyed but it cost the leader the secrecy of his condition. The others all stared at him in mournful expectation for another attack. He hated those concerned looks. They killed him on the inside.

"D-don't look… D-don't look at me like that!" he bit back at them. He lowered into his seat and swallowed dryly. He needed to take a moment to collect himself, to break down these nerves. The meditations their master taught them surfaced in his mind.

Donatello frowned. Of the three others, Don knew the most about the situation. It was part of his duties.

"You need to calm down," he coaxed his brother gently, coming to his side.

Mike looked about. Of the three others, Michael knew the least of the situation. It was part of his maintained ignorance.

"Is it that thing?" he asked Raphael silently, watching as their leader fidgeted in his chair, the corners of his mouth flicking up and down, up and down, up and down. Michelangelo blinked curiously at Raphael. "You know? When he's sick? Is it happening again?"

Raphael, as he was in most things, knew as much as he needed to. He stared at his younger brother and gently pushed against his shell, pressing him in the direction of the couch and their rescued damsel.

"Check out the babe over there, make sure she's not dead or anything," he ordered, moving his body so as to obstruct the younger turtle's vision of the eldest's struggling. "That'd kinda ruin the deal, okay?"

"You're sick, Leon," Don sighed as he lowered down onto his haunches and felt Leo's brow. "Try breathing in deeper. Slower."

"Don't order me!" Leonardo spat back after a swallow. He grinned confidently at the outburst. The lack of stuttering was usually a sign of recovery in his condition. The increased irritation and lack of emotional restraint, however, usually depicted the opposite.

Raphael watched with pride as his younger brother at last heeded his advice and made his way toward the couch. Then he turned to Don shaking his head at Leonardo's shaking frame. He shook his head. "Pop a cigarette, Leo, help ya with it some. Always does."

It was true and Leonardo immediately fumbled in his pocket, producing his final pack. He swallowed dryly and, after moments of struggling, stuck the first cigarette he could find into his mouth and leaned back. Just feeling the paper against his lips relieved him. He reached for the lighter but his brothers knew better than to trust his convulsing fingertips.

Donatello grabbed the lighter and lit the cigarette for his close and stubborn patient, he sighed dully. "You know, they say those things can kill you."

"Yeah, I really give a flying shit, too," Leonardo muttered, before grabbing the armrests of the chair and closing his eyes. The convulsing would have to stop eventually. He hoped only to wait it out and not go unconscious in the meanwhile.

He just asked himself, why _now?_ This was far too important for him to be anything but on top of his game.

The brothers watched him sadly. All but Mikey that was.

The youngest turtle leaned forward and looked at the pale red-head's face. He grinned widely at her. He did not know what it was about her, but Mike liked her. They had not technically even met but the mutant felt that there was something about her, something special.

Perhaps it was because she was the first girl he had met, he did not know. He just wished that she would wake up again.

Then she stirred.

He froze and straightened, staring at her wide-eyed. He had never thought that he would have regretted a wish so much in his life but he was suddenly certain that this was not going to be good. Michelangelo worried he might have liked the girl while she was asleep more than he had while she was awake.

Her eyes fluttered open and April was glad that everything had been a simple dream, a nightmare. She could not have been thankful enough that the event was all over.

It was easily the scariest single event of her life and she wanted nothing more than to look about the room and convince herself that her internment, the destruction of everyone she had known from her uncle's empire, and the salvation at the hands of the green skinned freaks was false.

She looked about and saw Michael.

He grinned. "I'm guessing you don't speak Italian judging by last time," he laughed before turning his green, domed head to the side. "So I'll just say 'hi' instead."

She blinked before screaming, causing Mike to scream, causing her to faint, causing Leonardo's head to feel as though it were bursting open from within. He could have killed her right then had he had a gun on him.

Donatello had had the foresight to remove such property from him moments before.

Instead, Leonardo leaned his head against the seat and began to slowly sink into it, a look of a man half drunk to death in his somber eyes. He felt weak and unacceptable but none of that embarrassed his body enough to obey the simplest of commands.

"You alright?" Don asked gently.

He did not answer and Donatello could only assume the worse.

"Mikey!" Raph snapped angrily as he came over to the youngest. "I warned you about scarin' her again. Last time we were lucky ya didn't give her a freakin' heart attack! Then again, judging by your ugly face, I'd say we're lucky the rest of us haven't had a stroke yet."

Don flinched at the mention of stroke as he gently patted Leonardo's cheeks, receiving just enough of a reply to calm him. He could risk taking the time to collect himself if Leonardo was having only a small spell.

_"Mamma Mia!" _Michelangelo called out in his perfected Italian accent as he gestured to the sky in grand exaggerated motions. "Help this girl and her fainting! Lordie be! I wish nothing more to make her as happy as I had my dear _mamma!_"

Raphael could not help but snort and shake his head at his brother. "Jerk," he breathed as he sent Michelangelo a cool glare.

"Stop it, you two," Donatello warned as he straightened up and gently pulled Leonardo's chair closer to the shadows. "Raph, come to Leo's side. Mike, stand by me. We don't have much time to pull this together."

"What about, Leo?" Mike asked worriedly, glancing back toward his hidden brother.

"He's fine, Mike," Raph assured him before sighing, glancing at Leo's dull expression. "We'll worry about him in a moment. We don't have time."

And they did not.

By the time that Michelangelo had found his way to Donatello's side, the doors burst open and revealed a shocked and angered Irish man. He was not exactly what the two younger turtles had been expecting for all this time.

In their minds, like the bosses of the other families throughout New York, Augustus O'Neil should have been at average height with slicked back, greasy hair, a silk suit neatly brushed out, and a round, content form of body.

Auggie O'Neil, The Ireland Flare, Big Red, could not have been anything further from the image.

The once green eyes that rested on the skin, tanned with wear and tear, surrounded by tangled, wild red and silver hair danced around in a new, smokey hue. He was a tall man, much taller than even Raphael and he seemed as though he could punch through their shells with a single blow. His body was riddled with muscles that seemed hardly contained by his worn and washed out clothes.

He was truly a wild man and they were the ones holding his unconscious niece.

Michael swallowed and instinctively looked to Leonardo's form for guidance. He, along with the other two who had done the same, was not comforted much by the lack of stimulus their brother was having.

Raphael reached into his pocket and produced a canteen that he always had on him. Mike watched quietly as he shook the canister and began to mix it with another canteen he had produced from his other pocket.

A small man, most likely a runner or porter, came in behind the crime lord. He hesitated, as unsure as the turtles about whether or not his boss would be diplomatic or simply shoot them.

"Maxi?" Auggie's harsh but not emotionless voice boomed. The younger gentleman stepped up. "Call up Doctor Stockman. Tell him to come down immediately so he can check out April."

"Yessir." And the man was gone.

Quietly, Auggie neared the sweet angel drawn out across the couch like a fair China doll. He bent over, his build still massive and intimidating to the four turtles but turned from them, and began to stroke her pale cheek.

"My little April," he whispered to her.

Raphael took the time to kneel beside Leonardo and press the newly mixed beverage against his lips, allowing Leonardo to drink it up. He frowned, his golden eyes leering toward O'Neil from time to time, wary of the presence at this most inopportune time.

"Drink up, brother," he muttered to Leonardo.

The turtle did but leaned weakly back again. He was going to take a few minutes longer to recover from the shock. Raphael licked his fingers and pinched off the end of his cigarette before taking it from him and straightening, returning his own intimidating presence to the situation.

Slowly, Augustus rose up from his knees, making Michelangelo flinch. The tension was too much for the turtle who was simply too new to all of these formalities.

"April is one of the few joys I have left to pride in this world," the tired mob boss confessed before turning toward the brothers. "For her safe return I cannot thank you boys enough. You have Augustus O'Neil in your debts." _Bingo, _thought Leonardo, awakening from his stupor. "I'm just not sure whether you know what a great accomplishment that is."

There was a moment's pause where the brothers instinctively awaited Leonardo's reply. His silence reminded them that Plan B had been enacted.

Donatello nodded, tipping his hat formally to the elder statesman. He smirked as he caught himself from performing a proper traditional Japanese bow. If he had not, Leonardo would have made him regret the blown cover later.

"We are quite aware of the honor that is," Don explained genuinely. "My brothers and I have been very aware of the fractions and their workings, _Signore_ O'Neil."

Mike fidgeted, uncomfortable with the situation and looked about. He had missed many of the opportunities to join his brothers and the warm up activities for this very day due to the fact that he was too young, too unprepared. Raphael had warned him that sometimes it was Don's job to take up Leo's when Leonardo could not.

He just did not realize how different the two were until that moment.

Leonardo was formal, smooth, charismatic, but one would soak in any word that slid off his silver tongue. His confidence in what _had_ to be done had always translated to those around him as what they _should_ be doing.

Donatello's flattery was purposeful and believable. It was also genuine and flat. There was not an obvious mystery in his speech.

Augustus O'Neil did not move for a moment, allowing his powerful presence to work on the boys instead. He was quite accustomed to the intimidation of his physique and foreign demeanor taking others by surprise. It appeared to work on the two younger brothers. The one who spoke, however, did not seem caught off guard at all.

Rather, this lean one seemed to be very expectant of everything O'Neil had to throw at him.

"My men who were sent to rescue my niece," he said slowly, staring directly at the speaking body, "including my dear friend and cohort—"

"Ivan Dobin," the knowledgeable brother offered correctly.

"Yes, Ivan," Augustus stammered. He waited a moment and smirked. He liked these boys styles, they knew who they were dealing with and had a similar plan. They were attempting to catch him off guard. "I sent them to rescue my niece, it's happened before, rather shamefully messy business. This time was different, though."

They remained silent although Auggie had paused for them to intervene. He was happy to see they were respectful.

Leonardo rubbed his face, clearing his vision yet again. He was glad that he was feeling alive again.

"I've had many men killed by _Don_ Baciloni's troops in these types of skirmishes but never have I had _all_ of my men killed," the crime lord explained. He tilted his head. "Toni's not that good, despite how amazing his counselor is."

Raphael and Michelangelo watched as their eldest brother was seemingly rejuvenated. They stared at the icy eyes he gave Donatello before straightening up in his seat, clawing his way back into his body, back into control.

"If you are insinuating any fault of my brothers and me," Donatello replied quickly, "then allow me on our behalves to apologize. There was absolutely no harm intended on your business or family. In quite the opposite respect, our only concern was in insuring that your family remained unharmed by the events."

With this explanation, Donatello's hand gestured instinctively toward the sleeping April.

Leo straightened himself further, eyes darting about the room for more of a grasp on the situation. The lights were still off, all was hidden. Don was in command. Mike was looking at him, though he knew better. Raphael was holding Leo's pack of cigarettes, damn him. Augustus O'Neil was before them.

The plan had not been ruined yet.

"I suppose if you were at any fault it cannot truly be blamed on anything but ignorance," O'Neil admitted as sighed with relief. He rubbed the top of his gray speckled red head and laughed. "Simply remind me that I should never cross you."

Leonardo leaned forward in his seat, drawing himself back into the conversation. "It's a good thing to keep in mind."

Don immediately eased back to his brother's side. He was happy to see this fit had been so small in comparison.

Augustus grew a more serious disposition at the sound of Leonardo's voice. It was a curse of Leo's façade, the friendliest company could easily be lost this way. The burly businessman did not back down, though. In contrast, he leaned back and observed the shadowy figures more directly.

"I am sorry to be arranging our first meeting out of order," he said slowly, his face drawn out as he tipped his head to the side. "But I think we should properly introduce ourselves. You know me, Augustus O'Neil, but you've earned credit enough to know me by Auggie. I don't believe, though, I have heard heads or tales of any of you." He squinted. "Nor have I seen you for that matter… I hear you don't like the lights."

"An accurate statement," Leonardo breathed as he stood up. "We will introduce ourselves to you formally first, then you can turn on the lights so long as your are aware that we are unlike anything you have seen."

The leader swallowed dryly again, leaning on the desk for support. His quivering knees gave him no support. "I am Leonardo," he stated before waving to his right. "These are my brothers: Donatello," he tipped his hat, Leo's hand moved to the left, "Raphael, and Michelangelo."

Auggie nodded stiffly. "Italian," he muttered.

"But not Sicilian," Donatello explained earnestly, separating he and his brothers from the enemies. He smirked. Oh, how their sensei had been so smart, with such foresight. There was no distinction of their Japanese lineage other than Leonardo's strangely accentless tone.

Big Red made a move for the light switch.

"I should warn you again," Leonardo spoke up, more solemnly than the first. "What you will see will not be anything you have mentally prepared yourself for."

He stared at them yet again before smirking. His world travels had taught him to expect the unexpected. "Try me," he scoffed slightly before flipping the switch and chasing the shadows back from whence they came.

The four brothers stared.

Auggie stared back.

His world travels most certainly had not prepared him for this. "Great Scott!" he gasped as he looked at them. "You're green!"

"We're turtles," Raphael smirked smugly.

Leonardo smiled tiredly. "Perhaps I should have been more descriptive when I explained our names. We are the _Tartaruga Brothers._ We are, in fact, astute and intelligent turtles with a twisted back story that is very much involved with the service to this great nation in the War."

Auggie took the bait; hook, line, and sinker.

"The War?" he questioned with a sudden quick and rather undeserved respect.

"Yes, but it is for another time," Leonardo expressed nonchalantly. "My brothers and I are currently without a residence and we would like to take our revenge on a certain Toni Baciloni for that very reason. We were glad to be of service to you and hope to do so again sometime."

Leonardo nodded to his brothers to leave and they began to file to the side.

"Our lives and our secret is now in your hands, _Signore,_" Leonardo expressed before willing his leg to move forward.

"Wait a moment!" Augustus expressed before rushing before them, shocked and reeling still. He laughed at himself for being so utterly shocked beyond response at their appearances. "You have Augustus O'Neil in your debts. You may not know what that means but it's a lot to me and I will be sure to repay you."

Leonardo smirked within himself. "We could use a job."

* * *

A/N: I apologize. This chapter took me longer than I first thought.

Please Review!


	5. What One Wants

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Five: What One Wants

March 26, 1957

Her hands were wrinkled with age to the point that the bony knobs of her knuckles were perturbing. No matter how she aged, though, the grip she had was still strong enough to retain his hand. He would not have left her but she had to make sure.

"You look so much like your father, Baby," she said with a near toothless smile. The remnants of a plump face lingered though hard times and loss had hollowed her cheeks. Her hair, once straightened and smoothed daily, was now wild and coarse as wire.

To him, though, there was no woman more beautiful in the world than Mama.

"Thank you, Mama," he said, his chest beaming with pride at the comparison. He had always wished to live up to a man as prestigious in Harlem as his father. Stories had always circulated since the doctor's death of his greatness and the fact that he died a martyr merely allowed his stature to grow.

For his family, Baxter had always attempted to live up to the man who was truly a legend in the community. It was part of the reason that he had gone to medical school himself, even if it meant that, in the process, he had left his lowly mother and younger brother alone.

The results of years of higher learning had done well for him and the rest of the family. He could now pay for them to leave the heavily burdened branch of New York City. They could have moved to the small New England town just as his father had always planned for them to.

Baxter had never anticipated for his mother, sick as she was, to be persecuted in this way. He did not know that he would have to sell his soul to the mob families of the city in order to ensure her protection.

Years after abandoning her, though, how could he not stand by her side?

"I'm back, Baxter," the deep, wholesome voice called behind him. It was a voice strong with years of manual labor and more years of severe humbling suffered by any Black man born into the decade. Baxter did not have to turn to know it was Solomon.

"Was it the lawyer calling?" he questioned, turning to the brother who was not so little anymore.

Unlike Baxter and their father, Solomon was tall, far surpassing their decent height of six feet. He had a strong chin and broad shoulders that had only grown with the years of muscle toning. His biceps were large and round enough to where Baxter questioned if he could get his arms around them. It was all years of working in the silver factory, though. It was a trade that Solomon went into so that he could support Mama and Baxter while the elder brother finished medical school.

It was a constant reminder of how his younger brother had suffered so that Baxter's ambitious dreams could come true.

Solomon's solid face grooved into a disappointed frown and he shook his head ever so quietly, peering through the prison bars. "No, it wasn't about Mama at all," he responded at long last before looking to her. "It _was_ someone at the O'Neil's, though. Appears that young Miss April had a nasty fall. They want you to come over and check her over with all your expertise."

Baxter lowered his head and sighed. "I see," was all he said. "Nothing about protecting Mama?"

"Only that they have some new men," Solomon responded. "You can see them for yourself perhaps. They will probably put them in charge of protecting her while she's in here. They always send the rookies. We'd do better if I went over to Baciloni and took care of his men _myself."_

"Hush now, Solomon!" Mama responded with a thundering command, her dark eyes peering at her youngest son for his brashness. "You will do no such thing."

He took a breath and nodded. "Yes, Mama."

"Don't you 'yes, Mama' me, young man," she said with a knowing glance. "Your Mama knows your heart and she knows your frustration. You will do everyone a lot of good if you just sit here with me tonight to keep Baxter here from worrying." Her homely face turned to her son and she smiled at him, patting his cheek. "You go where you're needed, Baby. Know your Mama's very proud of you and knows that what happens from here happens."

Baxter nodded and leaned over, kissing his Mama's cheek before getting up. He sighed and gave up his seat to his brother. They only nodded to each other as they exchanged positions, one inside and one outside the bars.

The good, young doctor took his hat, scarf, and coat from the rack and made his way out the door.

…

The door finally opened and their jaws dropped.

Raphael looked around the small room. It was small but it was furnished, ready for someone to enter and call it _home. _The most shocking thing, though, was that it was only one level of a house. It was a house commonly used for prestigious guests of the O'Neil family.

He reached over, easily trapping Michelangelo beneath his arm and yanked him toward the sight. "Do you see this, Mike? This is for us! Can you believe it? And it doesn't smell like shit!"

"Wish I could say the same for your pit!" the other exclaimed with a laugh as he was yanked along through the doorframe. He gripped to his brother, sharing in his excitement over the moment.

Leonardo and Donatello did not move from the door just yet. They were taking in the sight for themselves, knowing that they should not give their hopes up just yet. Instead, Leo leaned against the wall and nodded at Don to ask the questions for him.

Using his weight pressed against the wall, Leonardo made his way into the house, slowly entering the living room his younger brothers had already stormed through. He shook his head as they ran from room to room, taking in the sights of an actual house for themselves.

"Kids," he muttered as he looked to a couch in the center of the room.

"Holy cow! There's a fridge stocked with food, Raph!" Michelangelo screamed from the kitchen. The sounds of weight shifting from shelves to countertops followed the exclamation and clangs and bangs ensued, causing Leonardo to continue muttering to himself.

"Check out the bathroom, Mike! We've actually got one!" Raph shared in the jubilant exchange."

Don frowned at the banter as well as Leonardo's condition before turning toward the tall, surprised red head who had led them to their temporary home. He rubbed his neck, thinking fast to explain the current mess and at last grinned widely at Augustus O'Neil.

"My brothers and I don't really get out much," Don shrugged. "Sorry about that. I'm sure they'll calm down shortly and we'll be out of your hair soon enough. Thank you for this in the meantime. It's really, well, unexpected hospitality."

"No problem at all, just," Augustus grunted and looked as the figure of the young Michael ran across the house while Leonardo at last was able to collapse onto the couch. "If at all possible, don't tear the house up too much. April stays here when she's not at school and, well, I have a lot invested in the furniture and decoration of this house."

"To please clients and guests, I understand," Don nodded. "I'll keep things under control. Thank you again, Mr. O'Neil. It means a whole lot to my family and me. More than we can express."

"Thank you for my April," he stated lowly before nodding. "Good day, Sir."

With that the old mob boss left and Donatello was left to only sigh as his brothers broke a no doubt expensive and irreplaceable decoration. He shook his head at the unison of "Not me" that rang from the younger siblings and then closed the door.

"I'm so glad we could control ourselves for a few stable minutes in order to accomplish something," Don muttered as he crossed into the room. "It worked so well guys, bravo."

Michael and Raphael were not paying attention, of course, as they raced up the stairs to see what details could be found in the bedrooms. The two were more giddy than kids in a candy store, feeding off of each other's jubilance. It would have been cute if the time had not called for such caution and delicacy.

Don merely neared the couch were Leonardo sat stoically, thinking over the events.

"We've been planning this for so long," Leo stated quietly as the brother approached. "It's hard to believe that it's actually happening. It's hard to believe it's going according to plan, especially knowing how our luck usually runs."

Smirking, Don could only nod, walking around the couch and pulling up a chair to more accurately face his brother. He looked at the strangely aged look his brother, only a year older than him, already carried on his face. "Yeah, well, perhaps years of planning is the only way to make things run smoothly."

"Things never run _this _smoothly," Leonardo stated quickly looking toward the window. "They're going to have armed guards at the doors and gates all night. They don't trust us yet. But they're not going to kill us yet, either. If I know the old man like I think I do, they'll even give us the decency of not looking through the windows every few minutes."

"It's a good thing we're not going anywhere then," Don shrugged. "They won't have a reason to not trust us if we don't give them a reason."

"Bullshit they don't," Leo hissed. "They treat other humans like dogs, you think they trust us because we wave our hands and say we came in peace? Especially when the girl wakes up and tries to explain how I popped off Ivan Dobin?"

"So you don't think they'll trust us because we're mutants?" Don asked as he leaned back in his chair. "Auggie didn't have that big of a problem with it."

"He's still in doubt, he doesn't want to believe that we're what we say we are," Leo continued with a scowl. "And he's not told anyone else yet because he doesn't want to be made a fool in the community – believing that there's giant talking reptiles that saved his niece. That's why the others won't peep on us. To them we're average joes."

"Then why are you worried?" Don continued.

"Because the possibility of being double crossed is there," Leo said lowly. "You should always be weary of those that could cross you."

Sighing and unable to find a good argument for his brother's logic, Don merely leaned forward and patted Leo's shoulder. "Don't let that prevent you from getting any sleep, Leo. Not that you can help it. I give you about half an hour, or less, before you pass out. You've had a bad day and stress will just make your condition worse."

"It's not going to go worse because it's not in the plan."

Don looked to his brother and nodded. "Alright, Leo," he sighed, giving up on fighting the stubborn leader. "We'll do it your way. I'm going to check the house out and make sure the others don't cause anymore damage. Night."

He turned off the living room light and Leonardo stared out the window.

"Night."

* * *

May 1, 1934

As she stood upon the misty docks, she could not help but think of just how helpless and lonesome she must have looked. To passing strangers the singular shadow breaking through the gray morning must have seemed like a haunting apparition. Teng Shen could easily understand why she would seem like the remnants of a forgotten soul.

It was a tradition back in her home village, a small fishing village south of Nagasaki, for the women to wait perilously at the docks. They would sing prayers from their hearts, wishing for the safe return of the fisherman they dearly loved.

That was just what she did as she closed her eyes and folded her hands over her chest.

Since the death of patron and surrogate mother, Teng Shen had wandered the streets, quietly anticipating for the good fortune of her remaining patron to run thin. It was bad enough for his reputation to have a young, pretty faced Orient girl as company and without the coaxing of his wife she could not see why the Boss would keep her for long.

In those trivalent months she had found little to make her happy that did not originate from the docks. Her life was as fickle and useless as a crushing wave and she often found herself imagining a white face geisha, features so similar to her own, perishing under such kamikaze waves, breaking into thousands of little glass pieces.

She would watch as those pieces swirled out into the ocean, glittering from the sunlight.

It was on one of those occasions that the boat, the _Mar,_ came to dock, much like it did that cold May morning, and the happy, glowing face would come off. His strong features had only grown more rugged with hard ship work and his embrace ever more loving after long days on their sea voyages.

"You were gone for so long, Yoshi-kun!" she proclaimed as she was lifted off her feet and twirled about by her adoring lover.

"Not long, Shen-chun," Yoshi chuckled wholeheartedly before lowering her back down and nuzzling her gentle, sloping nose. "We were out for only a few days scouting. What will you do when Saki and I are out for weeks? Sailing up North for our fish?"

"It's hard to think about, Yoshi," Teng Shen whimpered at the reminder before breaking from his hug. She grinned wryly at her lover, her new cause for life, and waved her hands for him to pause. "I am not the only one who missed you, though!" she explained before running back on the dock.

She stopped short of the small cage waiting on the pier and knelt down to scoop up the chattering rat, grinning at the companion who had been with her since the man of her dreams had left her.

Teng Shen paid no notice to the large coils of rope tossed from the deck of the _Mar_ by its lone remaining crewman. Yoshi did, though, and he immediately turned to face the soured old friend of his.

The years remained engraved upon Saki Oroku's face and he seemed not only rugged from the years of toil but also chalice and broken. His once lively, excited eyes were now narrowed and dark, leering out into the sea whether it was of the blue ocean which had brought him to these lands or to the turbulent waves of white which swept him away each time he came ashore.

In Saki's eyes both were worth his scorn and so was the companion who approached him with great concern.

"Please let me assist you, my friend," Yoshi said lowly. "Teng Shen can wait for her reunion. I'll get the nets."

_"Baka," _Saki hissed in reply before tossing over another coil of rope less than ten feet from the prancing young woman who ran toward the edge of the dock, anxious for Yoshi to come back down. "I don't want your sympathy. She chose you. Go to her and enjoy your spoils."

Swallowing, Yoshi looked long and hard over the changed man who stood before him. He was at guilt for allowing himself to take the woman Saki loved from him but he was also right in his claims on Teng Shen. While Saki might have loved the girl she had made it clear that she did not nor would she ever have loved him in return.

"It is not worth the friendship which brought me to America," Yoshi countered in hushed urgency.

"You are a fool if you believe that," Saki muttered as he turned away from his former mate and friend. He shook his head. "The love of a woman who is true is worth that and a thousand times more. Do not lie to yourself or me and say otherwise."

"Yoshi! Yoshi! Come and greet Supurinta-san!" called Teng Shen through the jubilant giggles releasing themselves from her throat. She held up the cage and pointed toward the beloved rat, grinning wider and wider as Yoshi turned and lovingly smiled at the both of them. "He is one testy rat that you are trying to leave without him!"

The young man smiled, allowing the joy to fade slightly as he turned and looked to his friend. He was met only by Saki's dark glare.

"If you do not go to them," Saki said lowly, "I will be forced to knock you over this ledge. Then you'll never get to catch that school we tracked." A hurt smile forced itself on the chiseled face of Saki Oroku and, for the first time in months, Yoshi could see a small image of his old friend still alive within the tired old man.

And he was glad.

"For you I will, Saki," Yoshi nodded before leaping over the deck and landing before his shocked love. He laughed at her slap for his foolishness and took her into a warm embrace. He could not have been happier with the events of their American passage.

Saki threw over the net by himself. He could not have been more miserable.

…

"The sushi and tea we serve in Japan will always be something I miss. It is always more succulent, more beautiful, and more _traditional_ because it is made in Japan. It is not a remake or a lowly attempt of a merchant to duplicate perfection. It _is _perfection. Of everything I left behind in Japan it shall always be what I miss the most."

He was surprised at the amount of captivation this inspired from his beautiful lover. Yoshi had spent nearly an hour by then, absorbing her in his stories of an ideal homeland. He would have expected this to lull her into sleep rather than entrench her interests.

"But I am sure you know all this," Yoshi stated as he broke the edge off of his cracker and handed it to the pet rat upon his shoulder. "You are from the Nihon yourself."

Shyly, Teng Shen averted her gaze and gently pushed the cherry in her mouth to the side of her cheek. After a few proper chews, she turned back and looked meekly to Yoshi. "I am ashamed, Yoshi. I know very little about Japan, only what stories my mother and father told me before they died. Little, frivolous things about the old village. I do not even know its name, only that it was south of Nagasaki."

"But you were born there?" he pressed, slightly alarmed.

"Of course," Teng Shen continued, straightening her pose and looking quietly back at Yoshi. "But we left the Nihon when I was less than four. My memories are mixed with the voyage. The village itself, I fear sometimes, is lost in my mind."

Yoshi nodded quietly. "You have had a good few years with Mr. and Mrs. Diner, though," he concluded simply. "They have been a good American family to you."

"Yes, as good as one family can be to an alien child," she sighed as she lowered her hand, allowing the curious and friendly rat to crawl down from him and onto her. "I was never a daughter in their eyes as much as I was the _ward. _I have always been like their great service to community, keeping me off the streets and preventing me from becoming yet another 'Oriental tramp,' as Mr. Diner calls them."

"He is still good to our people," Yoshi said with a shake of his head. "I do not understand. Why would he say such things about us? What have we done to him? Saki and I have always treated him with so much respect—"

"It has nothing to do with you or Saki, Yoshi," Teng Shen explained, reaching for his hand, calming him. "It has nothing to do with anyone from all of Asia. It is because he is a white man who is good to the Asians."

The fisherman's face continued to scowl as he pulled back from her. "That does not begin to make sense, Teng Shen."

"It does in America," she sighed. "It is not ran by men like Mr. Diner or the mayor. It is not protected at night by the police or the military. America runs much differently beneath the surface, behind those men, and Mr. Diner must say such things to appease the _real_ men who run America. If he does not they will hurt him."

Yoshi studied Teng Shen's face, alarmed by the sudden information. "I do not understand what you are telling me, Teng Shen," he said lowly. "If what you say is true, who are these powerful men? How do they run America when the bosses and mayors do not?"

She frowned at his skepticism and shook her head.

Teng Shen knew her dearest Yoshi well by this point in their lives. He was curious to a fault and also righteous to a fault. This dark underworld that she was revealing to him would either destroy him or envelop him. She had already lost the family she found in the Diners to that darkness, she did not wish to lose him to it.

"If I tell you," she said lowly, "you must promise me to stay away from such forces."

He nodded. "I promise."

After staring into his eyes for a moment she took the leap. She trusted him and those convincing dark eyes. She had to believe that he would stay in the light as she had known him. "They are called families," she started. "Usually they are from a place called Italy and have strange names. They will come to someone who has a business and tell them that they can protect them for a fee. If that fee is paid then they will leave the business alone for a month. If it is not then something bad falls upon that house."

"Mr. Diner pays these dishonorable people?" Yoshi questioned.

"He does not have a choice," Teng Shen replied quietly. "No one ever does. They do not like us or anyone else who is different either. They will want you and Saki to work for Mr. Diner but they do not want him to be happy about it or me. I have put Mr. Diner in a precarious situation just by living, Yoshi."

He frowned and took her hand gently, ignoring as the rat smelled their collective grips. "You have merely placed yourself in a position for me to save, Teng Shen," he whispered. "Do not worry about these families or me. Do not worry for Mr. Diner either."

With that Yoshi kissed her cheeks and Teng Shen knew she had said too much.

…

He stared for a long time at the jewelry store window.

As much as he loved and adored the tradition of his native country, Yoshi had long since accepted the fact that he was in America and if he was ever to advance in life, particularly with his Americanized lover, he was pressed to attempt some more American traditionalism.

The problems he had found in that analysis were in the failing marketing and economy America was suffering compounded with the meager wages given to him and Saki during the long winter without shipping and fishing for income.

He knew if he was to move forward from where he was at that moment he was going to have to come into prospect with some money. To do that he would have to find a secondary job that would be lenient or more productive than his current fishing career. It was much harder than it sounded.

With that shameful cloud upon his head, he turned from the window and left yet another time without the little ring he had chosen for his dearest Teng Shen.

…

Saki slowly neared his apartment door, sure that Yoshi was nowhere near to coming home. He knew his friend would spend many more hours rekindling his passions with Teng Shen and the damn rat.

He reached forward with the key only to notice nearing bodies. He scowled before turning.

"I have done nothing tonight to interfere with your business," Saki said lowly. "Please leave me alone."

"You think we're here to hurt ya, Jappy?" one entity chuckled.

Saki turned more completely and narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"On the contrary," the other said in a deep, throaty voice. "We are here with a business proposition for you! To make you some money on the side of your prestigious job as a common marketplace fisherman for a stingy old man."

Saki looked about him, frowning further to mask his curiosity. "Yes?"

"How would you like to make two hundred dollars tomorrow?"

He was nearly thrown off his feet in shock. He stammered backward, earning laughs from the men. He shook his head, still caught within his own disbelief before he glared about again. He knew better than to be too surprised.

"For what?" he asked.

"Making something you Japs like to call _sake_," the first continued with a jesting grin. "Simply start the brew tonight and you'll get your money tomorrow. If we make a lot off of it, you'll get more. Got it? Like selling your fish."

His head was still spinning at how quick everything was happening but it did not prevent his wits from remaining sharp. He stared at them carefully and rubbed his face. He looked at their faces, not recognizing them in the least.

"Who is this for?" he asked.

The second grinned a wild, Cheshire grin. "Just know we're a family business."

* * *

A/N: Yes, the Saki-Teng Shen- Yoshi story line is taking place in the prohibition. Congrats to anyone who already caught on to the business deal ;)

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	6. Better Business

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Six: Better Business

May 1, 1934

The closet sized apartment had never been a particularly welcoming sight for Yoshi Hamato but after such a long night and yet another disappointing stop at the jewelry store it was the one thing he looked forward to. He felt as though he and his small, furry friend needed the peace and calm of the household.

As soon as the creaking door was open, however, he was met by a blast of steam and the distinctive sounds of pots and pans slamming against one another in a rushed panic. The noise was so loud and destructive, Yoshi prepared himself for the worse.

Silently setting his pet on the floor, allowing the rat to scurry away, Yoshi carefully removed his shoes, setting them on the mat beneath the coat rack beside Saki's boots. The fisherman narrowed his eyes as he realized that his friend had come home earlier.

A sickening feeling entered Yoshi's body and he began to wonder if the noise could be some intruder and, if it was, what had they done to Saki who was so obviously already home? He used a trembling hand to shut the door behind him and ever so quietly make his way across the floor.

His socks crossed the wood panels effortlessly after years of _kendo_ training in Japan and he only hesitated once when his toes dipped into a wet pool on the water. He looked down worriedly only to receive some relief. It was simply water.

He neared the edge of the hall and held his breath. He knew as soon as he turned the corner he would face the kitchen and, in doing so, face whoever it was in there that was creating such a ruckus. He closed his eyes and tightened his fists.

In his ears, the pounding of little hearts almost outweighed the noise in the apartment. He thought of Teng Shen and how crushed she would be if he did not come back to her. He thought of the police who he should be able to call to take care of these menaces.

Then he thought of Saki and he knew he could never leave his friend in such danger and he thought of what Teng Shen had told him just that day. The Big Apple was rotten in the core and ran by the criminals the police were sworn to fight. One such criminal could be the one in his home and therefore the police would do nothing to stop them. He was an immigrant, after all, who spoke broken English. It did not take a genius to know he would not be well received.

With only his fists to aid him, Yoshi rapidly spun around the corner, body ready to dodge or strike back in defense.

Staring forward, Yoshi found himself looking not at some criminal in an overcoat ransacking the cabinets and destroying the area by lighting it up but, instead, a frantic Saki who was scooting about the kitchen with every heated orifice covered by a black, steaming kettle that released no smell but enough heat to make up for it.

The friend did not even notice Yoshi standing before him as he continued to cook and rush about, checking every single kettle boiling while looking for more. He then slung one of the few bags of rice they had left on the counter. It was already half empty.

"Saki?" Yoshi questioned skeptically. "What are you doing?"

"This is not the time for discussion, Yoshi-san," Saki fired back before rocking a kettle back and forth by the handle. "Help me soak and boil the rest of rice! We have a few more hours and then we can put them inside the jars."

Sure that his friend had lost his mind, Yoshi looked about, leering at the kettles upon kettles of watered rice and shook his head. "Saki! This is not good! This was all the rice we could afford and it is not a good time for fishing yet. How are we going to eat when we cannot get any money?"

"I am getting us money, fool!" Saki snapped before motioning for Yoshi to come by his side. "Now hurry and help me!"

"How is cooking rice going to help us get money? It does not make for very good bait," Yoshi responded as he looked with displeasure. Saki poured the remaining rice into the last bare kettle.

"I am not cooking the rice, Yoshi, I am soaking it," Saki responded sourly as he finally removed one kettle and made his way to the sink, pouring the watery rice into the jar waiting there. "We are making sake and selling it."

Stunned, Yoshi's eyes widened and he looked to Saki, his jaw slackened. "Sake? We are making _sake_? To _sell?_ This is illegal, Saki! Sake and alcohol in this country are not allowed! Teng Shen told us so! Who would buy it?"

"The men who came up to me earlier said they would be by in a few weeks and reward us for it, They say they are a family business, they will pay us very handsomely!" Saki said excitedly. "Don't you see, Yoshi? This is what we came to America for! This is opportunity. This is a good job."

"We have good jobs," Yoshi responded pointedly.

"For some other man!" Saki fought back before turning to his friend. He clasped his hands on Yoshi's shoulders and smirked. "Don't you see, Yoshi? Don't you see? This is how we can make our own money! We can open our own fishing business if you like! We just do this once and can buy whatever we want! Isn't that worth it? Isn't it?"

Frowning, Yoshi nodded. He could not argue with that logic. They needed money and this was, in fact, a way they could do it and do it quick. Yoshi knew how to make sake, he had learned from his own father in Japan.

With a sigh, he took hold of a kettle handle.

* * *

May 24, 1934

Good sake took three weeks of fermentations in order to be considered perfect for tasting. The jars had to be shook at least once on each day of those three weeks in order for decay to take full affect and each jar had to be properly kept in a dark environment for the bacteria which produced the sake on the rice to grow. All in all, the process had to occur with weeks of proper care.

The knock on Yoshi and Saki's door came in the middle of the night with a few days past the three weeks mark. The strain in the apartment during those extra days had been almost more than the friendship could take.

Yet there could not have been happier Japanese immigrants found in the coast side slums that night when the Badger came knocking on their door.

"Please come in, Cassio-san!" Saki excitedly beckoned as he opened the door wider for the infamous Badger and his blundering, muscle bound cohort. "We were not expecting you so late else we would have prepared drinks."

"I would hope, Mr. Saki, that drinks are prepared regardless of expectation of time," the Badger proclaimed as he watched a cautious eyed Yoshi pull up the two best chairs to the kitchen table. He did not like the skittishness of the kid. It made him uneasy and when he was uneasy, his bodyguard grabbed the gun in the holster of his breast coat.

"Of course they are! Aren't they, Yoshi?" Saki asked as he led the guests in.

The careful friend looked up and nodded quietly before heading knowingly toward the tiny broom closet where jar upon jar of fermented rice was kept. He opened the door, releasing that familiar sour smell into the apartment, and began re-stacking the jars on the floor of the kitchen for Cassio and his man to see.

The Badger sat down and dug at his chin with his dirty fingernails. After all, he was known as the Badger for more reasons than always getting prices lowered on necessities. He sniffed a few times, taking in the aroma and sat back easily.

This would quite possibly be the easiest trade he could ever make.

"I trust you boys have already begun with the next supply of sake?" the Badger questioned, knowing better than to assume something so outrageous.

Saki and Yoshi glanced to one another and Yoshi shook his head, urging his friend to make sure this did not become a regular habit or way of income for them. Saki knew how to seize realistic opportunity, however, and turned back to Cassio.

"But of course, Cassio-san. We are ready at the services of both yourself and Don Baciloni-sama, always," Saki responded hurriedly, ignoring the sinking of Yoshi's head at the announcement. "The next jars of sake shall be ready in three weeks if we have enough to buy more rice and some rations for ourselves. It is very hard to fish out of season and income is low."

"Well, you don't need to worry about the tides for money any more, my boys," the Badger responded before laughing, pulling out a roll of green money and counting them out by twenties, causing the immigrants' mouths to drop. "Don Baciloni and my men are taking care of you now so long as you don't get caught with this stuff before our pick ups."

The two glanced to one another, simultaneously thinking of the landlord.

"Our landlord knows, Cassio-san," Saki spat out despite Yoshi's shaking head. "He smells the sake from our hall and threatens to make us pay double rent so he won't tell the police."

Laying out two hundred dollars, enough for more bags of rice and meager supplements, Cassio looked to his guard and then back to the young men. He grinned knowingly and got up, his gorilla of a guard walking over and picking up all fifteen jars without a problem.

"Keep the taps running and we'll take care of any housing issues you might have," the Badger promised before nodding to them. "Keep it up, Japs. Remember, Baciloni always takes care of his men."

Then, as easily as they had entered the home, the two men left the and shut the door behind them. The realization of what had just transpired could not have hit Yoshi any harder and he quickly turned on Saki.

"What have you done, Saki-san? We are in too much trouble now! This is not a good thing!" Yoshi exclaimed as he watched his friend walk toward the table and pick up the roll of cash. He shook his head again. "And why tell them about the landlord?"

"Because it interfered with their business and they should know about it, Yoshi!" Saki retaliated with a fierce glare aimed as his companion. "This will change our lives. This is how we will move up in America, by doing as these men do."

"It is not honorable in America to do these things," Yoshi hissed.

"But those men are not from America and you said it yourself, they own New York!" Saki fought back, holding the money up to his friend's face. "They came from another country just like us and can now pay us this much. Something must be right if they can do that!"

With a defiant shake of his head, Yoshi Hamato turned away from the man he thought he once knew and could not believe his own ears. He closed his eyes and attempted to think of Teng Shen, of the promise he made to not get tangled in such affairs. He thought about how he could never lie to her about such dishonorable business.

Saki pitied his friend's torn nature and quickly came to his side, slapping half of the sum into his hand. "This is your cut from what we earned today," Saki announced with a certain glimmer in his eyes. "If you want out I will not force you to do much more. But you won't get any more either. Understand?"

Biting his lips, Yoshi looked down to the new money and felt it between his fingers. He sighed before nodding. "Yes, alright. But only if once we have enough we open up our own fishing business and have nothing more to do with such foolishness."

Saki agreed. What was the worst that these 'mafia' men could do to them?

…

One week later a woman on the first floor of Yoshi and Saki's apartment complex called the police to report shooting. They came to the residence and entered the first room, that of the landlord Erin McCoy. He had been shot three times in the face at point blank range when he answered his door.

Despite it being a Sunday afternoon and the majority of the residents being home for lounging, no one questioned had seen or heard much of anything. They also had nothing nice to say about the landlord who was a mean Irish drunk by all accounts.

The police at the scene reported nothing more on the case after four o'clock and never went back to investigate. While they had noted a sour smell stemming from upstairs, they never investigated it.

They said what two Japanese immigrants did with their free time on a Sunday afternoon was between them and God. They all then went home to their wives and kids with an unwarranted two hundred dollar bonus.

* * *

March 27, 1957

Her mind fought the idea of waking up as if it were some sort of alien virus infecting her mind. She was not exactly sure why that was but she assumed it very much had to do with the fearful concept of what she had gone unconscious to.

Monsters straight out of a Vincent Price film had murdered everyone! But she had to know that this was a dream, or nightmare even, because it simply was not logical. It was not possible. Monsters were not real.

When her body had been convinced, her eyes opened and carefully she rose from her bed, thankful to feel the snugness of her own sheets. It complimented her idea that it was all just a nightmare, that none of it was true.

"Good, you're awake."

Slowly, she looked to the side and blinked at the presence of the Family's physician, Dr. Baxter Stockman, in her bedroom. Her heart slightly sank. Were the monsters real? Or had she been under the influence of some sort of fever.

After a few minutes of watching the dear doctor back up his supplies into his worn leather bag, April straightened up and leaned back against the board of her bed. She frowned slightly and cocked her head to the side.

"Dr. Stockman, it's always nice to see you," she said as she gingerly spread the sheets over her lap. "However, I must ask what I owe this unexpected visit to. Have I been under the weather or are you just so in the practice of making house calls by now that you don't know how to stay away from the O'Neil estate?"

"I only do what I can to help," he responded flatly before fastening the buckle on his bag, "when I am called, of course."

"You were called awfully early this morning, Doctor," April added sympathetically. "I apologize. I will see to it that your payment is increased dutifully."

He smirked and shook his head. He knew better. He knew he was lucky to be paid what amount he had already been given. The world was not nearly as neat and orderly as the near neurotic school girl would have liked them to be. "I was called to take care of you last night, Miss O'Neil. As usual I was kept longer to take care of some other members of the Family after a deal went bad in uptown. Crossed over in the Sanders' Family territory. You know how that goes."

April frowned. "I do know. I do not know, however, why you were called for me, Dr. Stockman. Whatever was it for?"

"You suffered a bump to your head is all, Miss O'Neil," he explained before heading to the door, opening it to exit. "You seemed to have gotten overly excited at meeting the unconventional new runners of your uncle's business and fainted. You hit your head in the process."

Her face dropped as Dr. Stockman opened the door to leave. "What do you mean by 'unconventional,' Dr. Stockman?"

As if on cue, the four shadow figures, grotesque even in their inhuman outline, walked past with the house staff backing into walls and corners to avoid direct contact. April's jaw dropped as she immediately recognized them as the mysteriously misshapen silhouettes from before.

"Your saviors, Miss O'Neil," Dr. Stockman scowled.

And the business still considered him an animal.

…

His time in Africa, as limited as it had been, had been vital in his reformed nature. He enjoyed it as much, if not more, than any of his ventures across the world in the years after the war. His dearest Lola had felt the same. They were truly a sinful pair in their voyages, thick as thieves others would have stated.

The most noticeable outward change had to be his sense of fashion. This he was particularly thankful for in the years his vibrant red hair had faded into orange and, slower still, into the unsightly gray that rested over his ears.

Grabbing his wide brimmed hat from the coat rack, Augustus O'Neil placed it upon his head and leaned back, grinning at the adventures it reminded him of.

The door opened slightly and a nervous voice of the secretary said, "The Tartaruga Brothers are here, Mr. O'Neil. They're anxious to see you."

He nodded knowingly. "Bring them on in."

The door closed momentarily and the business man made his way to his desk seat, sitting patiently before the door opened again. The four brothers filed in, the one named Leonardo in front followed by the speaker from the day before, Donatello, and the two younger ones. He could not recall their names tried as he might. They had not given him much to remember.

"You are here early this morning, Mr. Tartaruga," O'Neil smirked at the proclaimed leader. He rubbed his rugged chin. "I like that sort of eagerness. It's something that the world as been lacking for some time."

"I agree, Sir," Leonardo responded carefully. He was much more composed than he was the day before. It was curious but Augustus had seen stranger. It was simply part of the field of work. Everyone had their peculiarities. "My family has always worked against such slothfulness."

At the last statement, Donatello and the larger brother turned slightly to the smallest brother, turning his green cheeks to a light lavender. Augustus assumed that it was a form of blushing for the green boys.

"We're here to work, Mr. O'Neil," Donatello spoke up. "We are always looking to earn our keep and, considering our keep, we've got a lot to earn."

"How very flattering," Augustus laughed. Everything the slender one said was flattering. O'Neil noted that he should keep his distance from this one because if there was one thing he disliked in the world it was a brown noser. That was Baciloni's favorite kind of worker, not his. "But I'm glad you feel that way. I have jobs for you all already."

They became unnervingly quiet and glanced to one another.

"You mean… like different jobs?" Don questioned quietly.

Augustus smirked. He was no fool. Four brothers join his business under mysterious circumstances and expect him to allow them to have all the free plotting time they could? That was the mistake most of his enemies made with him: underestimating just what Augustus O'Neil was capable of.

"Very few jobs require four bodies at one time," he explained with a grin. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not," Leonardo said quickly, a glowering glance toward his brothers for their more than rude reactions. "We actually prefer to work in groups of two if that's alright. Understand that my brothers are simply reacting in concern for not being aware of each other's well being the whole time."

"In time I hope we can learn to trust each other, Mr. Tartaruga," Augustus sympathized.

"I hope so, too," Leonardo responded with a nod. "So what are the needed jobs?"

"Pairs of two, for your comfort, of course," Augustus began. "I need you and the prestigious Donatello assigned to be my left hand men during a golfing match between Toni Baciloni and myself. I need quick thinkers and you two seem to know how to play the games."

At the very mention of Baciloni, the brothers looked anxiously to Leonardo and the brother only smiled, the first that O'Neil had seen in his entire experience with the brothers.

"We would be glad to, Mr. O'Neil," Leonardo said with a nod.

"As for the rest of you," O'Neil responded before looking to the remaining brothers, "you will be following the O'Neil physician Doctor Baxter Stockman to a jail cell in Harlem. You will be assigned to watching an inmate and ensuring that no ill will comes to her, understand?"

"Yessir," they responded.

Augustus looked to his new men and laughed to himself. "Alright, let's get moving."

* * *

A/N: …

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	7. The Widest Eye

TMNT, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Splinter, and the Foot © Mirage Studios  
story © Turtlefreak121

**In Cold Blood**  
Chapter Seven: The Widest Eye

Summer 1945

In the sewers, long before Donatello found his first calendar, time did not move in weeks or months but in seconds. Each moment mattered more than the last and through the corridors of a silent sewer the breezes whispered _"survival survival survival."_ It beckoned all to act and react from the coils of the spiders' webs to the defense of the young turtle who found himself knocked aback by his adopted master's strike.

The waters splashed around him coldly and Leonardo found himself staring at the blackness above him. He panted, his muscles tensed in their tiredness. It made him sick to think that all of this fighting was getting him nowhere in the master's eyes.

Splinter stood in the sewers with the wooden sword firmly in his grip. It was a scary sight for the amateur fighter that Leonardo was. He was so inefficient as it was, to not be able to spar was further condemnation.

"Up, Leonardo," Splinter commanded lowly. "Up before I attempt to spar with one of your brothers over you. I will not be so patient with you if you show no effort."

If there was one thing that Leonardo had in his little body it was effort. He found himself grabbing on to the scum surrounding him and lifting himself to face his master. The cold eyes of the rat simply set upon him, questioning him about whether or not he was willing enough to continue.

"Are you prepared, Leonardo?"

Closing his eyes tightly, Leonardo gripped to the hilt of his bokken. He gritted his teeth as he fiercely called out, _"HAI!"_

By the time the younger turtle had opened his eyes again, the black rat was in front of his face and there was a brown blur slanting across his body. The turtle watched as the world around him began to fuse together and come to a near stop.

Action was taking place so slow Leonardo could have sworn they were the still frames of a picture show and that he and his adopted father were paused, stuck in the wide glare of the projector.

Even as he heard the strike of the wood thud against his chest, raking upward over his plated body, and ending its assault breaking over the tissue of his beak, Leonardo could not even feel what was happening. It was as though he was watching a movie that had swallowed him up.

As his gaze turned upward and he watched the splash of blood and water surround him, Leonardo released a stifled cry. He was defeated yet again but it was not enough. He wanted to go again. He wanted to fight again even as his body shut itself down and took him into violent convulsions, Leonardo waited. He waited for _his _turn to present what he could do: what _only _he could do.

…

In the sewers, when Leonardo's body began to fight his mind's control, as he could only watch himself foolishly flail around, time no longer moved in mindless seconds. It lengthened itself out to tortuous eternities where, as he grew older, Leonardo would begin to question how – if he even had – kept his sanity.

For what Splinter, observing from outside the green prison, counted as eleven minutes of pain, Leonardo lived through numerous lifetimes thinking over his position. His patience was his only consolation in those times.

After the profession of his mutated ailment, Leonardo sat shakily on the side of the sewers, breathing and staring as his master and father sat beside him.

Splinter did not speak much as they sat there for he did not know what he should say. It was not a situation that his own lifetime had had to deal with, nor was it a lesson in diligence that his master had taught him. Leonardo was a mystery.

And yet, more than once, he would prove himself to be a necessary asset.

For the rat's plot of revenge to ever play itself out, Leonardo's mind and skills would be needed. He would be needed to perform, and yet the master could not trust Leonardo completely with this task. It was beyond the turtle's abilities.

At least, that was what the rat was thinking when Leonardo turned to him, rubbing the blood from his broken beak.

"Immast de l-leadur," the fiery child announced suddenly. He then rubbed his face as roughly as he could onto his arm before turning his head to the side, spitting a string of mucus and blood onto the ground. "Immast d-de."

Splinter sighed and looked away from the turtle, shaking his head. "Little one, you are no more than eleven. You do not know much yet, let alone about your purpose. You shall be whatever I designate you to be in this clan to avenge our fallen master."

"Dor wong!" he protested loudly through his pain and anger. "Immano immast de leadur. 'N I whill no madder wut."

The rat turned and faced the student carefully, judging his every movement and noise before settling back where he sat. He rubbed the hairs on his chin before nodding, seeing the light of this event. "You must think more than act then, Leonardo, for you are not strong in your body. But no warrior wins with body alone and because of this you will prevail. But you must think more than your enemy."

"Wud Ido?"

The rat turned slightly, looking into the turtles determined little eyes before narrowing his gaze. "You must keep the eye closest to your enemy the widest."

* * *

March 27, 1957

He had been well aware that Toni Baciloni and his cronies were acquainted with the strange, the unusual, and the horrifically mutated. Leonardo knew that, while the villains may have found their juxtaposition to Toni's current nemesis bizarre, they would not be overly unwelcoming to the presence of Donatello and Leonardo.

Still, the shadows were where it was safest, where the targets of his learned hatred could not see his settled, angered expression. Leonardo remained in them while Donatello took closer to Auggie's side. He was taking Toni's hand in his own when Leo felt his stomach grow cold.

He stared at Saki Oroku only to find that the Japanese man's eyes were already settled firmly on him.

"You are quite the sight, Auggie," Toni laughed as he clasped a hand on Don's shoulder, nearly causing the supposedly Italian turtle to tumble forward. "I always knew you were jealous of my _exotics_, but I never thought the sporting type as yourself would hang them on your wall let alone employ them."

Saki was not impressed, his scowl unchanged as he glared into Leonardo's eyes, searching through them for some signs of a soul. It caused the turtle to question, in all the years that the Baciloni gang took care of hazardous wastes, how many of the turtles' likenesses had they seen? How many had they used for their own twisted means? How many times were the senselessly butchered?

In the corner of Leo's eyes, he could see Auggie run his fingers over the rim of his hat and laugh. He was biting back on his cheeks, resisting any outburst over what had happened just the day before.

"Let's say that they have more than earned my trust for the time being," the Irishman replied before cracking his fingers. "Well, enough of this. Leonardo, you want to shake hands?"

"I'd rather not take up your acquaintances' time, Mr. O'Neil," the turtle replied shortly, his eyes still caught on Saki's even as Donatello backed up to be by his side. The younger turtle swallowed at the unspoken tension between them.

Toni gave a laugh. The robust Sicilian grabbed deep into the sides of his gut as he coiled back laughing. It was a most disgusting sight to Leonardo, being more than exposed to the fleshiness of a human from a distance before. He hated how baggy they were and how bulbous even the most accomplished seemed to be.

"That's an animal who knows his place. You've done well, Auggie," he laughed before waving for Saki to move aside, allowing the caddies room to run up to their designated golfers. "I wish I could be same about the business with your niece."

Forcing a smile, Auggie replied simply, "I see April getting along just fine."

No longer needing his sole concentration to be on the stare down with Saki, Leonardo turned and looked to Donatello. The concerned look on his brother only caused his own expression to harden, however, and he tilted his head slightly.

"That's really him?" Don whispered. "Oroku Saki?"

"Yes," Leo responded lowly before glaring back at the team of humans huddled on the green. "We drove hours out to this miserable clubhouse of theirs but we finally get to see him, Brother. We get to see the man we've been waiting to kill for nearly fifteen years."

"You were staring at one another for most of that introduction," Don continued quietly, observing Toni as he waved his arms wildly back and forth, mocking their new boss. "How did he react to us? What do you think he knows?"

Leonardo could no longer suppress his scathing expression as he glared intently at Saki. "I think Saki feels as though he has seen a ghost. Little does he know it was the ghost of our master's dying promise returning to be fulfilled."

"Now?" Don questioned with a horrified expression. "We're not ready. I'm not even sure why O'Neil brought us here – does he regularly golf with his most hated adversaries or did we pick a good week to get in the middle of a street war.

Shaking his head, Leo sighed. "No, not now. You know the plan already. But O'Neil did not bring us here as a barter or a trap if that's where your thinking is leading you, Donatello. He doesn't operate that way. We are here because O'Neil knows how to play the game and he knows that it is best to keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"Alright, but that's Auggie's game," Don continued, slowly growing quieter as he looked to the group along with Leonardo. "But I know you, Leo. We've got our own hand in this. What's our game here?"

Leo folded his arms and shook his head. "To watch, Donatello. To watch and to _listen."_

The turtles set their sights upon the two as they seemed to continue the conversation they had been in earlier.

"I know you're protective of the girls, Auggie, it's only in your nature, after all," Toni piped up as he looked down to the shining head of his putter. "But you're also a bit of an idealist and that can only be seen in what you've been allowing that wryly April of yours to do. Yes, I suppose that it's better than putting her in a _nunnery, _but you're only putting her in harm's way. It's a shame that some random gang had decided to try to kidnap her like that happened recently, I send my condolensces to the young girl, but what could you expect by sending a girl to college to be a _lawyer?"_

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. He knew the plight that was being spoken of was not too much unlike his and his brothers' situations all through life. What superficial barriers would this April have to overcome? He doubted she'd ever get to feel success so long as slime like Toni blocked her.

He looked to Auggie who was visibly at the end of his own rope, his jaw shifting steadily as he bit back response after response. Leonardo could imagine the warrior within the old man squealing at the lack of physical retaliation: a retaliation that Toni and all twenty of his armed men were hoping very much for.

"How about we stop and get on with a play?" the Irishman at last responded.

Toni's caddy immediately prepared his golfer's favorite spot.

...

The eighteenth hole seemed like a miracle which never came, not until Donatello could see that last flag. It felt so relieving to be in the home stretch, to be at last releasing himself from all of this tension.

Leonardo and Saki had off and on restarted their staring match and it made Donatello uneasy. He did not want for the Japanese Right Hand to begin to recognize them, as impossible as it might have seemed. He was simply happy that they had not been killed on spot merely for being the mutant messes they were.

After all, any mutagen mess could be traced back to the very business which gave Saki his position as the Right Hand, to become known as the Shredder. He was well aware of what mutants looked like.

But that alone seemed to be a worry Leonardo nor Saki never addressed. Perhaps Donatello had presumed too much? They could never have been that interesting to him, after all.

Saki never even spoke to them, asked them more about their origins. None of Toni's men for that matter. They all seemed to just _assume_ and that made Donatello question all the more whether or not their enemies knew.

That would be dangerous. They could completely lose the element of surprise.

Other than Auggie or the occassional body guard of the O'Neil's, no one but one man spoke to the turtles directly. It was not a very pleasurable discussion either. Still, it amused Don to think back to it.

He could still see Weasel, that snakey accomplice of the Baciloni empire, slither over to them, his bald head shining and his yellow teeth clearly visible past his thin lips. Weasel was a most unlikable character before he could ever say the first word.

"Mutant lizards? Who'd a guessed," he started off with before laughing. "Most mutants are pretty dunce. We slice those up, though. Slice 'em and dice 'em. _Shred _'em even. Keeps most people from knowing about them. I don't think most of the O'Neil people even know that they're real. They probably don't even think that there's anything livin' in the sewers."

Don and Leo had merely stood in complete silence, allowing him to have his shots at them. He was not about to get an arousal, of that they were sure.

"Looks like they dressed you up all nice," he continued before flicking the rim of Don's hat, knocking it off of his head. "I don't know why. You two are obviously all build and no brains."

Leonardo narrowed his eyes and grabbed the man's hand as it reached for his hat. Don could not help but grin as Weasel's face quickly became one of horror. "The beast is not a creature to be trifled with, and the lowly reptile was around eating _rodents_ for a long time before you came along, _Weasel."_

The man was shaken. He could not form a question or a reaction. He merely took back his hand and shook his head. Leo folded his arms again and then Weasel laughed with relief.

"That made no sense," he chuckled. "What's this look like? Shakespeare?"

Snorting, Weasel walked away. "Can't believe this guy!"

Leonardo looked to Donatelloand frowned. "I vote for him to be next on our list."

It caused a smile to come to Donatello's face as he thought over the series of events again. He liked those sorts of memories. He had a feeling that soon enough they would be quite scarce. Right then, though, he smiled. He could afford to.

Auggie putted and missed purposefully, throwing the game to the boss with more gun power.

...

She had done this since she was a young girl and, despite her better sense, quite enjoyed every chance she got to do the chore. Karai knew that it was as her adopted father intended for her to feel, hence why she began to service the feeding frenzy at the ripe age of seven.

Her heels tapped along the pavement of the alley which no man or woman would ever dare to go down, and the ribbons of her new dress fluttered around her. She was dressed in red; in the new red dress that her father's large income afforded her.

It was very much in style and she appreciated it much like any other girl would have if they received such a gift.

Most girls, however, would not break in the dress like Karai was about to. They would wear it to a party or some other formal occasion, breaking it in while receiving as many compliments on their style and shiekness before the value wore out.

Karai broke in her dress by carrying a slab of newly butchered meat through the dark alleyway near her apartment. She felt her body mold the strict fabric, working its form into it as she neared the manhole and tapped her right heel on it twice.

A smile came upon her veiled face as, from below, the sewer entrance was opened and she was met by a pair of yellow eyes.

Lowering herself to a near squat, allowing her dress to rub itself into the grime of the city, Karai held the thick slab out and tilted her head to the side.

"Peace offerings?" a voice croaked.

"Offerings of gratitude," she responded gently as the slab was easily lifted out of her arms by the creature. She stood back up. "I will leave if you don't want company. I know how you prefer to not get messy in front of a lady, and how you prefer to not eat unless you can get incredibly messy."

"You seem to know a lot," the voice retorted. "You should know that I'd love your company. I always do, if you're not too busy, Miss Karai."

Smiling, the woman lowered herself onto her knees and sat back on her expensive heels, dirtying her once stylish dress. She folded her hands on her lap and watched the beast dive into his cuisine. Yes, it was just as exciting as it was the first day she had watched him do it.

"For you I am never too busy, LeatherHead," she at last responded.

* * *

A/N: Please Review


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